


A Wall Around Me

by orphan_account



Series: How We Came To Be [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Homophobic family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, SMH Bitty, Slow Burn, Sugar Daddy AU, mentions of past canon overdose, nhl jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-02 16:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 59,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8675026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Eric Bittle's scholarship is threatened, he doesn't know what he's going to do.  He can't go home, and he can't afford Samwell on his own.  Then help is offered from the most unexpected place--Hockey Legend, Bad Bob Zimmermann.  Bitty knows things like this don't come for free, he just never expected he'd have to "look after" Bob's equally famous son, Falconers' captain, Jack Zimmermann.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this came from my random Sugar Daddy Bad Bob idea where Bob and Bitty have a small moment over coffee, and when Bob learns about Bitty's school situation, offers to help him pay for it provided Bitty attend a few events as Jack's date. Jack, who is incredibly against this idea, does not want to participate in another one of his dad's "eccentric" ideas.
> 
> This is a slow burn fic, and I'm not sure how many chapters, or how often I'll update, but hopefully I'll keep it on a regular schedule. Any questions feel free to let me know. I will be posting the fic on tumblr as well as ao3, and my link to tumblr will be at the end notes.
> 
> I have never been to an American university nor did I get either of my degrees on scholarship, but from what I've read, academics play huge roles even if you're on scholarship for sports. I'm not sure how academic reviews would go in those cases, so just take what I say with a grain of salt, it's not going to be 100% accurate, but it's also not going to be a major focus in the story.
> 
> Be warned for issues of religious-based homophobia in the case of Bitty's family. I don't always (or that often) write the Bittles that way, however I have personal experience with these types of parents, so most of what is in this fic will come frome that. The warning is cursory for mentions, I don't plan on using it a lot becasue the idea of homophobia as a plot device bothers me, so it's more of a background reason why Eric can't go home if he loses his scholarship at Samwell.
> 
> I'll put warnings as each chapter is put up, for any possible triggers, and if I miss something feel free to let me know. Hope you like this, and thanks <3 xx

_Ping_.

Eric’s head lifted from the mixing bowl, staring at the door as though he might be able to somehow develop laser vision and see through it. Unfortunately, as usual, he was left with his ordinary human vision, and was forced to take his hands out of the dough he was kneading, and push with his elbow to poke his head out.

Luckily enough, Sarah was behind the register, taking the order of their first customer in two hours.

“You wanna help me on bar?” Sarah called as she looked back to see Eric watching.

He rolled his eyes. “Sure thing, darlin’, if you wanna finish these pies in time for the lunch rush.”

She huffed, but waved him off, and he wandered back into the kitchen. The pie dough was going to have to set, and the mini-pies which would soon fill out their baking counter, had another five minutes of baking, and an hour to cool.

It was the one thing Eric could do, at the present moment, to keep himself from losing his mind entirely. The one thing he could do so his head wouldn’t wander back to the email sitting in his inbox, to the phone call he’d gotten earlier, and the face of his coach who had finally decided that yeah, it was pointless, and Eric wouldn’t be playing this year.

His fingers began to tremble a little and he took a breath, held it for four, then let it out. He dug back into the massive mixing bowl and began to knead again.

By the time the oven timer dinged, Eric’s dough was done, wrapped, and put in the massive walk-in. He set the tray of pies on the baking counter, washed his hands, then ventured into the main lobby to see if anyone else had snuck in under his watch.

Eric liked his job a great deal. Annie’s was a nice place to work—good tips, great co-workers, and never put up a fuss about schedule changes. It was the one good thing he had going on, and the one thing he was clinging to, because he felt like he was dangling on the edge of a cliff, just waiting to fall.

Walking up to the counter, his eyes scanned the room, and they landed on the man near the back window. He was tall—Eric could see that, even with him sitting down. His hair was black, grey peppered through his temples which made him look, in a strange way, even more handsome. From his profile, Eric caught a straight nose, a bump in the centre like it had been broken more than once, and slight wrinkles near his eyes.

He also looked a little sad, which tugged on Eric’s heart. The man was sighing every few minutes, running a hand over his face, and checking his phone as he thumbed the rim of his over-large cappuccino mug.

“Morose one,” Eric muttered to Sarah as she swiped down some of the baking trays.

She glanced over at him, her eyebrows high. “Uh. Dude, you like…know who that is, right?”

Eric blinked, looked back at the man, then back at her. “Should I?”

“What the fuck. Aren’t you on the hockey team?”

Eric blinked again. “Yes, but darlin’, he’s not…”

“That’s Bad Bob Zimmermann,” she all-but hissed in his face.

He figured that was supposed to mean something, but for all that Eric enjoyed hockey, he wasn’t exactly…knowledgeable. “Um…”

She shook her head. “Jesus Christ. Dude he’s like…a legend. Like short of Gretzky, he’s the greatest player who ever lived or something. Even his kid is like, hella famous. How do you not know him?”

Eric shrugged. “Just don’t. And that doesn’t have anything to do with him lookin’ so sad. He say why? And if he’s so famous, why’s he here?”

She shrugged. “There was that alumni charity benefit thing today, I guess? His wife used to go here. Alicia,” she sighed dreamily.

Eric laughed, rolling his eyes. “If you say so, hon. But I think I’m gonna get that man a slice of pie because no one should be sittin’ in Annie’s looking that down.”

Sarah attempted to protest, but Eric ignored her and went into the back, sliding one of the fresh mini-pies onto a plate. The one thing Eric was best at was deflecting, especially when it came to his own problems. Which, right now, he needed the distraction more than anything.

He added a small scoop of fresh whip to the top, put a fork on the side of the plate, grabbed his own coffee, and went round the corner of the counter. He could hear Sarah hiss, “Oh fuck me,” as he walked off, but he ignored her as he approached the table.

From this close, Bad Bob—and really, that was his name? Eric seriously needed to google this guy—looked even sadder. His mouth was drawn into a deep-set frown, and the fingers playing with the screen on his phone were trembling slightly. Eric felt a pang of sympathy in his chest, and slid the pie down onto the table.

The man’s eyes snapped up. They were intense, dark, fixed immediately on Eric’s. “Sorry, you just looked really down and I swear by my MooMaw nothing will cheer a man up like one of my pies.”

Bob stared, then the corner of his mouth twitched up as he set eyes on the mini-pie. “Thank you,” he said, his voice accented. “What flavour is it?”

“Apple,” Eric said with a shrug. He squeezed his own mug, then decided fuck-it, and sat in the chair across from the supposed hockey legend. “Trust me, it’ll help.”

Bob stared, but didn’t seem offended. Instead his eyes flicked down to the name badge, then he said, “That’s nice of you, Eric,” and he dug the fork in.

One bite, and one obscene groan later, and Eric was chuckling. “Usually gets that reaction.”

“If I wasn’t still madly in love with my wife, I would marry this pie,” he said.

Eric lifted a brow. “Is that legal in Canada?”

“Our Prime Minister is progressive, I’m sure I could convince him,” then he winked, making Eric laugh again.

“I’m glad it helped. I um. Well, I hope I wasn’t bein’ too rude. You just seemed sad and well…” He trailed off with a shrug.

Bob stared, his mouth turning down again, and he poked at a bit of the crust with the prongs of the fork. “Maybe a little. Family troubles, you know?”

“Wish I didn’t, but yeah,” Eric said. “I’m on break if you need a friendly ear.” When Bob looked a little dubious, Eric said, “Reckon maybe a non-biased party could help? Considering we’re strangers.”

Bob hesitated, then took a bite and spoke through crust and apple filling. “Do you ever have those days, Eric, where you think back on all the things you should have done—knowing what was right and wrong—knowing you made the wrong decision?” Eric was about to nod when Bob said, “Crisse, what am I even saying? You’re so young, how could you know?”

“Well I know a little,” Eric said, thinking of his emails. Of his coaches. Of his parents. He swallowed thickly and said, “I mean, probably not the same but…” He shrugged as he trailed off.

Bob nodded. “I think I’ve fucked up my son. Sorry for the swearing. But…he’s unhappy. He’s unhappy and I don’t know how to make it better.” He took a breath, then a long drink of the cappuccino which Eric was pretty sure had long-since gone cold. “I think my biggest fear is that one day he’s going to look at me and realise exactly where I failed him. And I don’t know that he’ll ever forgive me.”

There was a long pause before Eric spoke, and he kept his voice soft, leaning toward Bob. “Take this for what it’s worth, because you don’t know me from Adam, and we’ve been talkin’ all of five minutes. But from experience, I can tell you that the simple fact you worry that you don’t love him enough, probably means you do. I can’t speak for your history but I can speak for someone who knows what it’s like not to be loved enough—not to be good enough—for the people that birthed you. And maybe your kid might realise there were places you made a mistake, but he’s also gonna know that you cared enough to worry. And it’ll make the difference. I swear it will.”

Bob stared at him. “I don’t know what to say.” When Eric rose, Bob turned to him quickly. “Eric,” he said quickly, and the barista stopped in his tracks. “Eric…I don’t know what happened between you and your family, but they’re lucky to have you as a son. If they don’t realise that, it’s their loss.”

Eric’s cheeks went pink, and he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Thanks. Thank you. That…um. Means a lot.”

Bob smiled, then Eric grabbed his mug and walked away.

*** 

Finishing his text, Bob went to put his phone away, but it started buzzing. He saw his wife’s name on the screen, and quickly picked up. “Alicia…”

“Did you get your coffee?” she asked. There was a flurry of noise in the background, meaning the luncheon was still going strong.

“I did. I…sent Jack the text.”

She let out the softest sigh. “You know we can’t…Bob, trying to force him…”

“No I’m not doing that,” he said quickly. “It’s just…with Kent’s wedding next month, I’m nervous. He can put on a good face all he wants for the press, but I know our son. He’s hiding that emotion somewhere.”

“You’re not trying to say he still has feelings for Kent,” she asked.

Bob laughed. “Non, chérie. But it doesn’t mean this wedding won’t remind him of everything he hasn’t let himself have. I don’t want it to become too much again.”

She sighed, and the noise behind her was quieter. “What did you tell him?”

“That I was sorry for putting pressure on him, and that I loved him, and if he ever wanted to talk, he knew where to find me.”

“That was…” She said, then laughed. “Surprising.”

“I got some decent advice from a new friend,” Bob said, and craned his neck, but Eric was nowhere to be found. “Are you almost finished?”

“Shortly. Why don’t I meet you at the commons. We can head out from there. I told Jack we’d be in Providence before dinner.”

“Alright. See you soon.” He rang off, slipping his phone into his pocket, and approached the counter where the young girl was wiping down the milk steamer. “Pardonne,” he said, and offered what he hoped was a disarming smile when she turned round, “that barista…Eric? Is he still here?”

She blinked, and he noticed a slight paling in her cheeks. “Uh. Yeah he had to slip out for a bit. You want me to like…tell him something?”

“Only thanks,” Bob said, disappointed he couldn’t tell Eric to his face. “The pie helped a lot.”

The girl laughed. “It literally cured me of heartbreak last year. I got cheated on and Eric made me an apple pie, and stayed with me all weekend and I swear to god by Monday morning, I had forgotten the asshole’s name.”

Bob chuckled. “Seems like something, doesn’t he? Well…have a good afternoon. And thanks again.” With that, he turned and headed out. The walk to the commons wasn’t far, and he knew Alicia would be a few more minutes, so he stepped beside the wall near the alley and pulled his phone out again.

He hoped, though didn’t expect a return text from Jack, and was not surprised to find his phone screen blank. He had half a mind to call Jack and leave the same message on his voicemail, but he had to remind himself that it would be overkill. He didn’t want his son to feel smothered. Jack would only shut down further, and Bob couldn’t risk sending Jack into that dark place again.

Sighing, he shoved his phone away and took a step from the wall when suddenly he heard it. The softest sniffle. Then a muffled sob. Unable to curb his curiosity, Bob peered round the alley, and behind one of the massive dustbins, he caught a flash of blonde hair.

Instinct took over, and he side-stepped a few manky puddles, moving until he saw Eric, curled up on several flat delivery pallets, knees to his chest, with his face buried in them. Eric’s shoulders were shaking, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were yellow-white.

“Eric?” he ventured.

Eric’s head snapped up, his eyes swollen and red, cheeks lined with tear tracks. He swiped at his face, and tried for a smile. “Oh um. Mr Zimmermann…I uh…”

Bob shook his head, and carefully walked over, leaning onto the pallet. When he was sure it could take his weight, he sat and nudged Eric with his elbow. “One of those days, eh?”

“You could say that,” Eric replied, his voice thick and raw. “You too?”

“Maybe not as bad as you,” Bob said softly. “Is there…is there anything I can do? You helped me a lot and…I’d like to help? If I can?”

Eric let out a dry, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “That’s real sweet of you, Mr Zimmermann. Honestly talkin’ to you at least let me forget for a little while. But I don’t think there’s anyone who can help me.”

“Wanna try me?” Bob said.

And maybe it was the sincerity in his voice, or the fact that he’d spent half his life as a father, and Eric so desperately needed that kind of figure, but the southern man’s mouth opened, and he just…started to talk.

“I got in here at Samwell on a scholarship. Uh, Hockey. But I’m not…I can’t play.” Eric scrubbed a hand down his face. “Every time someone comes at me, I freeze up. I’m useless. Coaches tried everything, my Captain tried everything, but I was useless. I was puttin’ in all my effort into it, but my grades started slipping and I…went under review last week because I was failin’ two classes. I just got the email that my case was reviewed and um. I’m…I don’t qualify for the scholarship anymore. My professors submitted to the review board saying that there wasn’t any way I could bring my grades up to passing, because my marks were too low. Even acing my finals won’t…” Eric’s voice broke, and he began to cry again. As he hid his face, Bob put a hand on his back, rubbing slow circles.

“Eric…I’m sorry.”

Eric shook his head against his knees. “Wouldn’t be so bad, yanno? But I ain’t got nowhere to go. My parents…someone forwarded my momma and Coach my vlog. I talked about…about bein’ gay and I…I can’t go home now.”

Bob felt his heart clench, his stomach go hot with rage. How could a parent do that? How could they prioritise some false idea of moral superiority over their own child. “Eric…” he said helplessly.

Eric lifted his head, swiping his face. “It’s…I’ll figure it out. Got real nice friends, and got this job. I could probably find a place and um. See about finishing somewhere on loans. Samwell’s too expensive for that, but there’s the state university or community college or…something.”

Bob could feel his heart thudding, and his mouth going faster than his brain because the words were just coming out. “What if I could…help you with that?”

Eric blinked at him. “Um…?”

“Eric, no one should be turned out because of that. You have so much going on and your parents…” His voice went hard and he had to bite back his anger. “I could help you. You know who I am, right?”

Eric let out an incredulous laugh. “I might have been googling you a little, right when that email came in.”

Bob’s laugh matched Eric. “Well let’s just say I have the money. And a lot of it goes to waste. You should let me help you.”

Eric’s cheeks went bright red, and he took a breath, looking anywhere but at Bob’s face. “That’s real nice but…”

“Sometimes,” Bob said, “help comes in unexpected places. Sometimes you just have to recognise you’re the sort of person who deserves a leg-up. I’m…I won’t pressure you, but the offer’s open, Eric.” He dug into his pocket, pulling a name card from his wallet, and he handed it over. “Mobile number, email, twitter. Just…think it over.”

Eric took the card, and scrubbed a hand down his face. “That’s…I. Thanks. I guess. Not sure why you think I deserve it but…”

“You gave me advice that might have actually helped my relationship with my son. And crisse, but my situation with him is a mess, and I always seem to make it worse. You deserve better than you’ve been treated, Eric. And no parent should turn their kid away.”

“Yeah well, I reckon my parents never got that memo,” Eric said bitterly.

Bob looked at him a moment, then said, “You want a hug? Jack hasn’t accepted one in years, but I always remember them helping a little.”

Eric laughed, but shrugged all the same and leant into Bob’s open arms. It didn’t last long, but Eric let out a quiet sigh at the comfort, and was smiling a little more genuinely when he pulled away. “Thanks. I mean, for all of that, but the hug too. Tell your kid when you talk to him again that you have it on good authority he should accept a few. They work wonders.”

Bob chuckled and ruffled Eric’s hair before he rose. “I have to go meet my wife but…please think it over, Eric. Your future doesn’t have to be wasted, okay?”

Eric bit his lip, then nodded. “Thanks, Mr Zimmermann.”

“At least call me Bob,” he replied with a laugh. “I think we’ve come that far.”

“Well…then you can call me Bitty. It’s my uh…hockey name.”

Bob grinned widely. “Bitty. I hope to hear from you soon.”

“Bye,” Bitty said softly.

When Bob turned back after a few steps, the alley was empty, and Bitty was long gone. Bob wondered to himself what the hell he was doing. Wondered what Alicia would say, and what Jack might think. But mostly he wondered if Eric was really going to call.

It was a strange offer, he supposed, but he felt good about it. He’d been able to do so little good over the years and if he could do this one thing, maybe he would stop feeling like such a failure. Like he was drowning in it. He at least knew one thing—if anyone deserved the help, it was someone like Eric.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to meet Jack. The PoV for this fic will mostly just alternate between Jack and Bitty, though Bob will be thrown in every now and again. Any questions feel free to pop by my tumblr and let me know. x 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter- mentions of Jack's anxiety, overdose, and rehab.

Jack stood in the kitchen, counting his breathing. In for three. Out for three. In for four. Out for four. It was nothing specifically his parents had done, apart from being here. In his space. Being themselves. And he loved them. He appreciated how much they loved him, but it was…a lot. Looking at their faces meant he wasn’t able to distance himself from what he had been, _who_ he had been. He could hear commentators discussing in detail his overdose like it was tomorrow’s weather, speculating on whether or not he was due for a relapse or another breakdown like maybe it was going to snow overnight.

Jack had done enough interviews, given quotes to puff pieces explaining that it wasn’t drugs, it wasn’t alcohol. He’d been taking anti anxiety meds. He’d been in the Q and not given the amount of support and supervision a mentally ill teenager should have, and things got out of hand.

No one ever listened.

It had taken a handful of pills, three seizures, a life-flight to the nearest hospital, and six weeks in rehab for his parents to have some vague idea that Jack’s anxiety was never going to be cured. That pills weren’t the end of things. And he needed help.

And seeing them there in his space, knowing that at some point his mother would excuse herself to his bathroom and look in his cabinets, and count the pills on the bottle, comparing them to the date it was prescribed, made it all seem too close, and that much worse.

They were in good moods presently, which was why this was easier than other times. His mother was excited about her Alumni event at Samwell, and his father was having a good time exploring both cities since they rarely flew to Providence. It was nice to speak in French again, his mother tongue soothing for Jack.

What was not so nice was knowing they were also here to help with Kent’s wedding plans. Kent Parson. Jack’s best friend, greatest rival, and a sort of ex. Jack’s Big Gay Panic, is what Kent called himself, even though Jack wasn’t actually gay. Jack didn’t feel like much of anything, these days.

A handful of dates after his disastrous teenage years with Kent didn’t really help him realise much beyond being attracted to both men and women, and that he didn’t think he was good for anyone so why bother. Kent didn’t agree, but he was one of the few people who accepted Jack as he was, and Jack knew better than to let that slip through his fingers.

Honestly, the only reason Jack was out about his sexuality was because Kent had come out, and he had a point when he said, “If you don’t, they’ll figure it out. I’ll do what I can, but you have the right to control the narrative, Zimms.”

So after six long meetings with George and the PR team, Jack released a statement. “I stand by Kent Parson and Alexei Mashkov, as both friend, colleague, and fellow member of the LGBT community.”

Jack then answered a handful of questions. “Yes, Kent Parson and I had a short relationship when we were younger. No, it had nothing to do with my overdose—that was due to my mental illness. No, I don’t think sexuality affects game plays. No, I’m not seeing anyone, nor do I have plans to.”

It was annoying, but Jack’s deadpan-humourless answers were eclipsed by Kent and Tater announcing their very public engagement, and plans for a big to-do—something Kent had always wanted, and Jack was secretly pleased he was getting. Kent was difficult as it was, to get along with, and Jack could tell no one was better for him than Tater.

But it left something feeling…strangely hollow. A feeling Jack did not enjoy, and did not want to deal with. It was like an itch under his skin, too deep to reach, and faint enough he could ignore it most days. Though when he saw Kent’s latest Instagram photo of him, Alexei, and Kit curled up tagged, ‘Family’, the itch got a little stronger.

Jack would weather it though, like he weathered everything else in his life. With aplomb. With his press-smile. With his kind words and occasional chirps. Then he’d play some fucking hockey and hopefully win another cup, and maybe that would make things feel a little…better.

Breathing one last time, Jack opened the fridge and pulled out two of the beers his parents had requested. He was sticking with water that night. They were having dinner with Kent and Alexei later, and Jack volunteered to drive so his parents could relax, but not have to worry about grabbing a taxi.

He pulled the caps off, and started toward the living room when he heard his dad’s voice and froze.

“…a big deal, Alicia. I mean…okay maybe I haven’t totally thought this through but…”

Jack was startled his father was speaking in English, and it took him a second to reorient his brain in that direction.

“It’s just…darling. You know what this sounds like, right? You’re offering to be his…his sugar daddy.”

Bob let out a laugh, but it died off. “It’s not…I mean. I’m not…asking for anything in return.”

“Aren’t you?” she countered, and Jack had to push himself against the wall and clamp his jaw shut not to say anything aloud yet. “You just told me your plan and that sounds a lot like quid pro quo.”

“Crisse de tabarnak, chérie, it’s not like I’m asking him for sexual favours.”

Alicia let out a small laugh. “It doesn’t have to be sexual.”

“I’m just…I don’t know. It felt like the right thing. He was so kind and, Alicia, if you had seen his face…if you had heard the way his voice broke when he told me about his parents.” He heard Bob let out a frustrated growl, and Jack knew his father’s soft spot was neglected children. It was why, no matter what had happened between him and Kent, Bob had never let Kent get too far away from the family. “No one deserves that. He’s…he doesn’t have anything.”

Alicia let out a tiny sigh. “I just think your plan…your actual plan, might have some…flaws.”

“Just let me handle that end, okay? Meet him at least. He hasn’t said yes anyway, hasn’t even sent a text.”

“Alright,” she said with a sigh. “You know I want to help as much as you do. I just want to make sure you understand exactly what you’re getting into.”

Jack decided enough was enough, because of all the things he could process, his father becoming someone’s sugar daddy was _not_ one of them. That was absolutely a conversation he would not be having. Whatever his father’s plan was, he would be leaving Jack the hell out of it.

Clearing his throat, he walked into the living room with the beer. “Sorry,” he said, slipping into French in hopes that would guide the conversation as far away from _that_ as he could make it. “I needed a moment.”

“Are you feeling alright, coucou?” his mother asked.

He inclined his head just the once. “Of course. I think I’m just a little tired. We had an early skate with the Little Falconers, and I was up late watching tape.”

Bob sighed. “One of these days you’ll be out late on a date.”

“Darling,” Alicia scolded, and Bob held up his hands in surrender. She shook her head and turned her attention back to Jack. “Tell me about this afternoon.”

Jack smiled at her, loving her a little more for that, and he did.

*** 

Eric sat on his bed, Shitty curled up against his left side, Lardo at his right. Holster’s head was on Eric’s thigh, and he was controlling the mouse on the laptop as Eric stared down at Bob’s card.

“I mean…he is hot. Like he’s old, but hot,” Holster said, clicking on a photo of Bob next to his son at one of the NHL black tie events. “Like salt and pepper, but I bet he can still get it.”

Eric rolled his eyes. “He wasn’t asking for sexual favours.”

“Yeah but like…if he was…”

“Not all these relationships are sexual,” Shitty cut in, smacking Holster on the arm. “The Sugar Daddy culture is widely misunderstood. And misused by people who don’t take the time to get educated.”

“He’s not a sugar daddy,” Eric said, a squeak to his voice.

“Bits,” Shitty said from behind a sigh, “offering to pay your way is exactly a sugar daddy. And you haven’t heard his terms yet.”

“He didn’t uh. He didn’t have any. He just offered to pay.”

“You think he’s done anything like this before?” Lardo mused, reaching over to bat Holster’s hand away. She clicked on another picture of Bob, Alicia, and Jack Zimmermann, all three of them wearing Jack’s number one jersey. “Sugar daddy thing?”

“He’s not a sugar daddy,” Eric protested again, though this time it sounded weaker.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Shitty said, ignoring Eric. “Seems like a generous guy, and his wife is really chill. His son well…” Shitty trailed off with a shrug. “I’ve read all about him. Like he came out a few years ago when Parse—the bro from the Aces—when he came out. I guess they were together in Juniors. Hard to imagine though.”

“Why?” Eric asked, staring at the photo of Jack. He was incredibly good looking. Like the toes-curling, should be a model type. Well defined, broad, jawbone that could cut glass. He knew what Parse looked like, too. The guy was everywhere in hockey, so he was hard to miss. And Bitty could see it. The two of them together…

Though the entire world knew now, Kent Parson was getting ready to marry Alexei Mashkov, so whatever it was between them was long over.

“Dude, have you ever seen Zimmermann? Like his interviews?” Holster asked. When Eric shook his head, Holster sighed, pushed up on his elbow, and typed in Jack Zimmermann Interview.

YouTube pulled up a clip from ESPN, and Holster clicked it. The audio took a minute, then the video kicked in, and it showed Jack Zimmermann, covered in sweat, a little out of breath as mics and recorders were shoved into his face.

He was being goaded, asked questions that would have earnt silly answers by any other players. _“Did you think anyone had it out for you tonight?”_

_“I don’t know. I was paying attention to the puck.”_

_“What about that fight, eh? In third period between Mashkov and Parson. You think there’s tension there off the ice as well?”_

_“That would be a question for Mashkov. We were just here for the hockey.”_

“Compare that shit to this…” Holster queued up a video of Parson, who had the entire room laughing with his jokes, winks, smouldering glances. When it was over, he looked up at Eric. “See what I mean? They call the dude Hockey Robot for good reason.”

Eric felt something twisting in his gut, because he didn’t know Jack, but he couldn’t imagine a guy like Bob raising someone who didn’t know how to emote. And if Kent had dated him once…there had to be more there.

Eric felt wrong prying like that, though. He hadn’t bothered to get in touch with Bob at all and he wasn’t even sure he was going to do this. “I don’t wanna lose the Haus,” Eric whispered suddenly.

His teammates froze, then Shitty dragged him into a hug, pressing a kiss to his temple. “It’ll be alright, Bits. I mean if you want to do this, there’s no shame in it. Bob was right, you know? What he said. Sometimes people deserve a little help and if anyone does…it’s you.”

“But what if he wants…” Eric stopped and sighed. “I don’t know. Something.”

“Well you need to decide what your limits are. Tell him if it crosses a line. Get a signed agreement. Do it the right way. Protect yourself, but don’t be afraid to let yourself have shit.” Shitty ruffled his hair, then beckoned the others out. “Think about it. Then give him a call.”

Eric scrubbed a hand down his face, then sighed. “Yeah I…okay. I’ll…think about it.”

His door clicked shut, and Eric reached over, grabbing Senor Bun from his nightstand, tugging him close to his chest. His laptop was still showing the video of Parse, who was grinning frozen at the camera, and on the side was a thumbnail of Jack. Eric’s hand hovered, then he clicked it and watched one titled Jack Zimmermann’s top ten goals.

He was stoic on the ice. His cellys were without smiles, though a few times Eric caught a light in his eyes which he knew held something there, something more than just…just hockey and determination. But it wasn’t his job to figure it out, was it? This was about him and Bob.

He thumbed the card, then grabbed his phone and punched Bob’s number in. **Um hi it’s Eric. From the café. I was wondering if we could uh…talk? Later?**

He hit send, then felt his heart thumping as he stared at the screen. One minute, then two. By seven he’d nearly given up, but his phone buzzed and he nearly through it across the room in surprise.

_Sure, Eric. I’m really glad you messaged me. I’m out at dinner, but will you be available later?_

**Yeah. Thanks um. Any time is fine.**

_Talk soon :)_

Bitty poked at his volume, then turned it all the way up, set it on the nightstand, and curled into his blankets. His eyes shut, though he was nowhere near sleep. But the anticipation was threatening to overwhelm him, and it was all he could do to keep calm.

*** 

Jack saw Kent at the bar as he was coming back from the bathroom, and his feet paused without really meaning to. His head was spinning, unable to let go of the conversation he’d overheard between his parents that evening. He’d nearly moved on from it, but halfway during the meal, Bob’s phone buzzed, and he saw his dad’s face light up.

Bob leant over to show the message to Alicia who rolled her eyes and gave Bob a pat on the arm. Jack knew then it was…whatever Bob had going on. It made his stomach twist, and he wasn’t even sure why, but he felt a sudden, almost desperate desire to tell someone, and if anyone would understand his dad’s ridiculous ideas, it was Kent.

He slid up to the bar and ignored Kent’s surprised eyebrow raised. “Zimms.”

“I think my dad’s up to something.”

Kent barked a laugh as the bartender pushed a whiskey sour at him. He took a drink, grimaced, and reached over, grabbing three more cherries for it. “Okay? Something like…what? For the wedding or…?”

“No. He’s…” Jack dragged a hand down his face. “I overheard him and maman talking earlier, right before we came out. He met someone.”

“Oh fuck me,” Kent breathed. “Is he fucking cheating on her?”

Jack shook his head. “No not like…not like that. He met someone on campus today, some kid who was having financial problems. And you know how he gets.”

Kent let out a hollow laugh, clearly remembering his own past. “Yeah. Guess I do. So what?”

“So…” Jack’s words died on his tongue, and the force he needed to get them out had him blurting with absolutely no tact, “I think my dad’s going to be someone’s sugar daddy.”

Kent stared, then threw his head back and laughed so hard, everyone around them stared. He didn’t stop until Jack kicked him in the shin, and even then, he only just managed to muffle his giggles. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he said behind his fingers. “Are you…I mean of course you’re serious. Jack Zimmermann hasn’t told a joke in ten fucking years. How…did he say this?”

“Maman and him both did,” Jack said dryly. “Kenny…this…he can’t do this. Someone will find out.”

“So?” Kent asked with a laugh. “Who the fuck cares. It’s not like he’s playing anymore, is he?”

“Kenny!” Jack admonished. “A sugar daddy. What kind of person even does this? Est-ce que tu comprends ce que je dis? A _sugar daddy_. The implications…”

“What? That he’s fucking a college kid?” Kent asked with a snort. “Everyone knows Bad Bob Zimmermann is better than that. Everyone will just assume it’s some charity case.” Kent thumbed the rim of the glass. “What do you even know about the kid anyway?”

“Nothing. I mean, apart from him meeting him today and…offering to help. But I could tell the kid was texting him during dinner.”

Kent sighed, putting his hand on Jack’s arm. “Zimms, I fucking love you. I always will. But you need to get a damn life, okay? Your dad’s gonna do what he’s gonna do, and frankly that’s none of your business. If he’s happy…” Kent trailed off and shrugged. “Concentrate on finding yourself a nice date to my wedding, okay?” He leant in and winked. “Don’t want you dancing to Single Ladies all by yourself now, do we?”

“Fuck you,” Jack grumbled, and Kent walked off with a laugh and a wink. When he was alone, Jack quickly ordered a scotch for himself, deciding if he had to face the rest of the evening with the knowledge of what his father was doing, he was going to do it sober. Fuck being DD. They’d take an Uber.

*** 

It was an hour later, and one really bizarre uber ride and they were all back at Jack’s place. Alexei and Alicia were in the kitchen looking over a seating arrangement. Jack had excused himself to shower, and Bob found himself on the terrace with Kent, lighting up a couple of Cubans Bob had saved for this night specifically.

“I’ve been waiting a damn long time to have this moment with you, mon fils,” Bob said, passing the lighter over.

Kent lit the end of his cigar, and rolled his eyes. “Oh I bet. Kenny the little fuck up Parson finally got his shit together and is making an honest man out of someone.”

Bob shook his head. “You know that’s not what I mean. You were hurting for a lot of years, Kent. This is…a good night. I’m happy. Proud of you.”

“Aww. Come on don’t make me cry,” Kent said, pulling in a long drag of the fragrant smoke. “Seriously.”

Bob laughed, patting his arm. “I love my boys, so sue me.”

“I will. Expect to be served by morning.” Kent puffed on the cigar a moment, then said, “So uh. Jack says you’re about to become a daddy again.”

Bob stared. “Pardonne?”

Kent winked. “Of the sugar variety?”

Bob’s face immediately turned red, visible even in the dim terrace light. “Merde,” he swore. “He heard all that?”

“Well probably not all of it. Doesn’t seem to know shit about the situation. But he’s being all Jack about it. Wants me to talk some sense into you. Making sure you’re not taking your Hockey Fortune and trading it for sexual favours and shit.”

“Crisse,” Bob said, shaking his head. “That’s not what it’s about.”

“So what are you getting out of it?” Kent asked, and laughed when Bob gave him an incredulous look. “Oh come on, you’re not asking him for anything?”

Bob bit his lip. “I don’t need anything.”

Kent hummed, then said, “Tell me about him, then.”

Bob puffed on the cigar a bit, trying to think of the best way to sum up Eric. “He’s…kind, without expecting anything in return. I was having a bad day. Jack and I had…well. The usual. Argued. The kid brought me pie and coffee and sat with me. It was…sweet.”

Kent looked at him askance. “Are you interested in him?”

“Crisse, Kent. He was a boy! I’m not…no. I wasn’t even thinking about anything, but I saw him later sobbing his eyes out because he’s lost his scholarship, and apparently his parents have disowned him because he came out.”

“Fuck.” Kent’s eyes dropped, and Bob knew Kent understood that pain a little too well.

“He has nowhere to go, a shitty little café job, and nothing else. He can’t make it on his own yet. And I wanted to help.”

Kent nodded. “His parents here or…?”

Bob shook his head. “I don’t think so. He has a southern accent. Like…deep south. He’s small…”

“Like me?” Kent asked with a wry grin.

Bob laughed. “Non, smaller. Plays hockey but…he was having trouble on the team so he was benched. Looks a bit like you though. Blonde. Freckles.”

Kent hummed. “And you weren’t thinking of yourself but…were you thinking of someone else?” When Bob blinked in confusion, Kent rolled his eyes. “Like Jack?”

Bob coughed. “What? Mais non, why…Kent. I’m not going to barter college tuition for sexual favours for my son.”

“That’s not what I meant, oh my god,” Kent said. “I just meant like…introducing them. You and I both know Jack has a type, and you and I both know it’ll take someone determined and fucking stubborn to get him to crack a little.”

Bob was startled, because he hadn’t thought of that. “Like…playing matchmaker?” He glanced at the terrace window and saw Jack wander into the living room, wandering toward the kitchen. “He and his mother will kill me if they find out.”

“Well they don’t need to, do they?” Kent hummed. “Why not just…have this kid go places Jack needs a date. We have that LGBT charity ball in a couple weeks. Then all the shit for the wedding.” Kent ruffled his hair and shrugged, clenching the cigar between his teeth. “Tell Jack it’ll be for appearances only. Shit, tell the kid that, too, yeah?”

“Jack won’t agree,” Bob said.

Kent laughed. “My ass he won’t. If it means people won’t think you’re dipping into the cradle for your middle-aged kicks, he’ll do it.”

Bob let out a startled laugh. “You think?”

“Oh, trust me pops, I know.”

Bob sighed, then pulled out his phone and pulled up Bitty’s number. “I suppose it can’t hurt to try. If he says no…”

“No harm, no foul,” Kent said. “Kid still gets a sweet deal.”

Bob nodded. It sounded off the wall, a huge risk. But it might also be the kick Jack needed, and it wasn’t exactly immoral, even if it was a little…underhanded. But Bob loved his son. Bob wanted Jack to be happy, and if he had to go to these lengths to see that through well…no one could blame him for trying.

Except maybe Jack.

But he’d deal with that later.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in this chapter for discussions of homophobia and past homophobic violence (canon discussions about Bitty's time in high school)
> 
> I want to make a few things clear--Bob and Kent are trying to get Jack and Eric to spend time together, but they're not trying to manipulate Jack into having feelings for Eric--and if Jack truly doesn't like him, they will back off. (same goes for Eric, if Eric isn't into Jack, they wouldn't push the issue).
> 
> Secondly I'm fussing with the ages here a little bit. Eric is a junior and I know by this time Shitty had graduated, but I need him at Samwell for my purposes so let's just say that he started a year later.

All but bouncing on his toes, Bitty stood outside of the café, unsure he was really going to walk in. He’d never considered anything like this before. The offer seemed too good to be true, and most of the Haus agreed with him on that one. Bob Zimmermann was a nice guy, a charitable guy, but there was no way he was going to offer something for nothing. It wouldn’t feel right, and frankly Bitty would never get that lucky.

The only real question was—whatever Bob wanted, was Bitty willing to give it?

He’d sat with Ransom and Holster earlier that morning and come up with a list of things he might be asked, and where he’d be willing to compromise, where his hard no’s sat, and where he’d consider saying yes.

Sex was off the table. Bitty was a virgin, and although he agreed with Shitty’s long lectures about virginity being a social construct mainly existing to reduce women down to their sex appeal, he didn’t want his first time to be with a man old enough to be his father—and then some—just to have his tuition paid.

He was also concerned with the public dating image. If Bob wanted it to look like he and Bitty were dating, Bitty knew his life would fall under a microscope and that was uncomfortable. He’d think about it, but…it didn’t seem feasible.

The only real problem was, Bitty didn’t know Bob, and even researching for hours online didn’t give him a lot of insight into the guy’s mind. Bob’s history was hockey, and his family. He loved his son more than life itself, had a parental relationship with Kent Parson as well, and was a doting husband.

So why all this? What could Bob possibly want?

The question was plaguing Bitty enough that he’d agreed to this meeting. Bob was already inside, and had seen Bitty loitering out front, but had been kind enough to allow Bitty this personal, momentary panic. But he was gathering himself quickly, and Bitty was determined not to walk away.

His trembling fingers gripped the door handle, and he went inside.

Bob’s face was relaxed into an easy smile, and he gestured to the open chair across from them. The table he’d chosen was furthest back, next to a pillar which would block a lot of the sound and offer them privacy, although the café was fairly empty during that time of day. It was also far from campus, which meant Bitty was less likely to run into any one he knew, and hopefully they could get through this without Bob being recognised.

He took a breath as he sat, and watched as Bob pushed a mug of something across the table at him. “It’s hot chocolate,” he explained, and laughed when Bitty lifted a brow. “I thought maybe you’d be tired of coffee, working at a café?”

“Well I never say no to a pumpkin spice latte,” Bitty confessed, though he was secretly happy with the cocoa. “Even if I have to make a hundred that day.”

“Noted,” Bob said, and Bitty felt his heart thud against his chest. “You look nervous. If you’re not comfortable doing this right now…”

“No I…” Bitty took a quick drink, then let out a slow breath. “I’m…your offer is appealing, because honestly I can’t think of another way I can keep going to school here, and I um.” Bitty swallowed thickly and thought about the call he’d have to make to his parents if it came down to it. If it came down to climbing back into the closet, or living on the streets. “I have nowhere to go, really.”

Bob’s brows dipped low over his eyes, and he sighed. “But?”

Bitty laughed at how easy he was to read. “Uh I told a couple friends about this. Ones I can trust,” he added, when Bob looked concerned. “They won’t say anything. But they did bring up a good point that you can’t…you can’t possibly want to do all this for…for nothing. These arrangements, you know, usually go both ways.”

Bob’s face gave nothing away at that. He sipped his coffee and poked his fork into the side of his coffee cake. “Do you make these?” he asked suddenly.

Bitty blinked. “Coffee cake? Yeah, my moomaw has a recipe I’ve been using for years.”

“I bet yours is better than this.” Bob pulled a chunk off with his fork, and Bitty could tell just by looking it was dry. He let out a breath. “I do want something.”

Bitty’s pulse sped up and he tried to keep his breathing even. He knew this was coming. “Okay. I mean, I’m… I think I’m okay with it, depending on what it is. I have some pretty hard no’s.”

Bob nodded. “What I want it’s…consider it mostly a favour, really. If you can’t, if it doesn’t work out, Eric…I still want to help you. I’m not…” He stopped and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to fulfil some task in order to be worthy of a leg up in the world.”

Eric felt his cheeks heat up, and he nodded. He wasn’t sure if Bob was just trying to butter him up, or if he was being serious, but it did put him more at ease. “Would you like it if I told you what I won’t do? Before you ask?”

Bob nodded. “That might help.”

“No sex,” Bitty said bluntly, and Bob started immediately choking on the swallow of his coffee.

He scrambled for a napkin, and swiped his mouth, his cheeks very red. “I…crisse, Eric. I wasn’t…did you think that’s what I…?”

Bitty let out a nervous giggle. “No but there were so many forums,” he confessed. “I stayed up all night reading and … well. A lot of people are into these um. Relationships. For that.”

Bob composed himself, shaking his head. “That’s not…it’s not near what I had in mind.”

“Dates?” Bitty asked. “I mean, you’re married so…?”

Bob’s lips twitched into a smile. “Euh. Not with…not with me.”

Bitty blinked at him. “…okay?”

“My son,” Bob began, and Bitty’s heart thumped so loud, he could hear it in his ears. “You know about my son, yes?”

Bitty nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“He needs…it would be nice if he had euh…” Bob scrubbed a hand down his face and shrugged. “Someone to occasionally look out for him, go with him to events and things. Kent, you know Kent Parson?”

Bitty nodded. “Course. Aces Captain, setting records his entire career.” He let out a tiny laugh. “I might not be any good on the ice, but I know my hockey.”

Bob smiled softly. “He’s getting married soon. There are some events Jack and Kent have to attend, and trying to find a date, trying to avoid questions and deal with the press, it’s hard on Jack. His anxiety is managed but…” Bob trailed off, looking a little sad. “It might be easier for him to have a set-date. Someone without expectations.”

“So,” Bitty said slowly, “you want to pay my tuition and everything…and all I need to do is attend a few events with one of the hottest hockey players that ever existed?” He then flushed when he realised what he’d said, and to whom. “I mean um…”

Bob chuckled. “I married a model, trust me, I was not surprised when Jack turned out looking as dashing as he does. And yes. That’s the short of it.”

“Anything else?” Bitty asked.

Bob opened his mouth, but his words were cut off by a ping from his phone. Swiping the screen open, he stared, then sighed, then looked up at Bitty. “Actually…how are you with floral arrangements? Because my second son, it seems, is having a bit of a crisis.”

Bitty raised a brow and thought, _is this it? All of my financial worries gone…just for this?_ Then he realised Bob may very well be asking him to go meet Kent Parson—of all people—and frankly he didn’t think he’d turn it down, even if Bob wasn’t offering him everything he desperately needed. “Well, my auntie owns a flower shop, and I used to help her every year during wedding season. So if that answers your question…”

Bob grinned. “I’ll give you the address, and you can head on over. Alicia and I have a flight out, but I’ll be back this Friday for a charity event. I can…have something drawn up, if you like? And you can give me the information you need for your finances. We’ll go over it more in-depth when I come back, eh?”

Bitty smiled and nodded. “I think that sounds good.”

*** 

Jack stood in the middle of the flower shop glaring at Kent who was wearing his most smug grin. “I don’t know why I got dragged into this. Kenny, what am I supposed to know about flowers that you don’t?”

“I just need another eye,” Kent said, poking at the petals of a massive vase full of cut sunflowers. “And Tater’s busy.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “At the skate I should be busy with.”

“Oh my god,” Kent groaned, hip-checking Jack. “You can take a damn day off to help your best friend.”

“Tater’s my best friend,” Jack said dryly.

“Point?”

Jack turned his back, staring at a vase of purple flowers he couldn’t name, even if his life depended on it. Jack had never had anything to do with flowers. He’d never bought a bouquet, never received a bouquet. He could have named off at least a dozen guys from his own team, and maybe four of his neighbours, that would be better suited for this task. He could tell Kent was up to something, and was annoyed it was taking this long to get it out of him.

“Why don’t you just tell me why we’re here,” Jack said.

Kent glanced up from his phone, then sighed. “Fine. I uh. I talked to your dad last night? Like… you know, about that shit you brought up, and you were right. He’s doing it.”

Jack almost choked on his own tongue. “Merde. Il est trop stupide! Pour quoi…” He stopped to breathe. “Why is he doing this?”

“Because he’s a bleeding heart. Because he found some kid crying in an alley over losing his scholarship, and can’t go home to his shitty, homophobic parents.”

Jack felt a tug on his heart, and immediately tried to quash it. He had no time to feel sympathy for random baristas. “And you couldn’t talk sense into him?”

Kent laughed outright. “Jack, can anyone talk sense into that man?”

Jack groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, because Kent was right. Jack knew he couldn’t change Bob’s mind, and if anyone could, it would be Kent. But he didn’t think Kent would even bother. This would be far too amusing. “This is going to destroy his reputation if it gets out.”

“I was…worried about that,” Kent said, and sounded sincere. “I mean you know your dad, he’s not…I mean it’s not like that.”

“I know,” Jack said tiredly. 

“But if the press gets a hold of this…”

Jack felt irritation prickle along the back of his neck. “So what do we even do about it?”

Kent shrugged, turning away as he examined a rose bouquet. “Well um. I mean. You could like…fill in?”

Jack startled. “I could what?”

“Like, buffer it, you know?” Kent turned back to him, shrugging. “When your dad takes him places, be there. Like…okay this weekend at the charity auction, go as his date.”

Jack stared at him. “You’re…Kent you can’t be serious.”

Kent threw up his hands. “What, Zimms? Your dad’s gonna do this. He’s gonna pay this kids’ tuition and he’s not going to listen to anyone.”

“So you want me to what?” Jack demanded, throwing up his hands.

“Never mind,” Kent said with a sigh, and turned back away.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jack shook his head. “Just…this whole thing is fucked.”

Kent shrugged. “Yeah. It is. But you can help. Like I know you give a fuck about your dad. I know you don’t want his name dragged into all sorts of shit. You’re single and hot…so what’s the big fucking deal if you show up places with this guy and people think maybe you’re dating. Think maybe your dad’s doing this shit because you like him.”

“I’m just…” Though Jack felt himself softening a little at the idea because Kent did have a point there. “This random college student is taking advantage of my dad and…”

“Nah,” Kent said, strolling over. “I really don’t think he is. Like he didn’t ask for any of this, and from what your dad said, he seemed pretty fucking reluctant.” Kent rubbed the back of his neck and blushed a little. “But like…if anyone knows how persistent your dad can get about stray kid cases…”

Jack couldn’t help the lurch in his stomach, because he did remember. Kent was in the Q with him, and he remembered Kent’s struggles, and how fucked up his family situation was, and how much he’d needed Bob and Alicia.

But that was different, wasn’t it?

His argument fell flat, even in his own head. He opened his mouth to say something, to maybe even soften a little because he knew then was going to do this. He’d take the heat off his dad however he needed to and he’d size this guy up for himself.

But before he could get a word out, the florist door dinged open, and someone walked in. That someone was short, blonde, his face bright like the sun with a smattering of freckles, and the largest, darkest eyes Jack had ever seen.

“Hey y’all,” the guy said, looking a little sheepish. “Uh…Bob said I could find you here. Something about needin’ help with the flowers for the wedding.”

Kent caught Jack’s eye before smirking and saying, “Oh shit, you’re cute.”

The kid blushed. “And you’re a flirt, which you’d better watch it, Mr Parson. I’ve seen your fiancé on the ice and I know he’s take no prisoners.”

Kent threw his head back and laughed. “Oh fuck, we’re gonna get along just fine. Uh…Eric, is it?”

The kid shrugged and gave Jack a very cautious, sheepish look before saying, “Everyone calls me Bitty? Hockey name. But um, whatever y’all want’s fine.”

“Bitty,” Kent said, slinging his arm around Eric’s shoulders and drawing him to the display case, “I think you’re just the eye I need.”

*** 

Jack left halfway through Kent and Eric looking through the binders at flower arrangements. He was torn in half, and it was making his anxiety flare, and his temper rise. Eric… _Bittle_ …seemed nice enough. Too nice, Jack thought. Too helpful, too happy to be there. And maybe it was his bias, or maybe it was his paranoia, but he couldn’t stop from wondering why this kid would say yes to Bob.

Deep down, Jack knew his dad came on strong. When Bob wanted to do something, there was no changing his mind. But this was out of the ordinary. When Bob had all-but adopted Kent, Kent was already in the Juniors. He was already on his way to becoming a Hockey Star in his own right.

This kid…Jack didn’t see a lot of potential there. Which meant there was a good chance he was taking advantage of Bob’s celebrity, and that never sat well with Jack.

So he was suspicious. And angry. Even if Kent seemed to think the kid was on the up and up.

**Zimms, way to fucking bail on the dude you’re supposed to be getting to know. Your dad invited him to the Charity dinner this wkdn. We still on for the plan?**

Jack sighed at his phone, tapped out a few replies, deleting them, before he settled on one.

_Yeah, I guess so. Is he even aware he’s “going with me”?_

**I gave him your number. You can thank me later.**

_This isn’t a joke, Kenny._

The next time Jack’s phone buzzed, it wasn’t Kent. It was an unfamiliar number with a vaguely familiar area code. Jack swiped the message open and read.

**Jack, hi, it’s Eric Bittle? Kent told me to text you about the Charity dinner. It’s um, all new to me so I’m not sure what I should wear or…anyway, sorry I’m so awkward. Just let me know. And thanks for going with me.**

The text was finished off by a handful of emojis that Jack neither understood nor appreciated. He sent back a terse, _I’m sure my father will fill you in about requirements. Be there at seven, don’t be late._

And he left it at that.

Before dinner, his door buzzer interrupted his rummaging through his freezer for the pre-made delivery meals he got once a month. Before he could move to answer, the key turned in the lock, and he heard Kent and Tater walk in.

“Shit, Zimms. How can you stand that crap?” Kent asked as he threw bags on the table which Jack was pretty sure was Thai.

“It’s perfectly acceptable food,” Jack said tiredly, and gave a quick, one-armed hug to Tater who had both, long arms stretched out for him. “Aren’t you tired of fucking your diet plan with take-out?”

“Literally all Segs eats is pizza. Do you fucking hound him over it?” Kent asked with a wrinkled nose.

“Segs does not bring pizza to my house every night he’s here,” Jack said dryly, but he didn’t fight. He reached into his take-out menu drawer for plastic forks, and handed them round as they all sat.

Kent dug through until he found the box he was looking for, then dug in with relish as Jack picked at his own. “Well thanks for fucking taking off and making me look like the asshole,” Kent said with his mouth half full. “You should have stayed. He was actually really nice. We got coffee after at his bakery and he let me try his pie.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Jack asked.

Kent rolled his eyes. “Maybe. Tates was there too, right babe?”

“Tiny baker make such good food,” Alexei said with a shrug. “Am want him to make wedding cake. Maybe wedding pie?”

“God that would be fucking good. You think he’d do that?” Kent mused. “I bet he would. Shit he’d probably do it for free if Bob asked…”

“You’re a multimillionaire,” Jack said sternly. “I might not love what my dad’s doing but you can pay the kid for services.”

“He’s not a kid,” Kent said. “He’s like…a junior in college. And he’s pretty fucking smart. And cute. You could do worse.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Jack said tersely. “Apart from saving my dad’s ass.”

Tater laughed. “I’m think Bob is protect his own ass okay. Without help. He do this many years.”

“Yeah well, he’s also a little…” Jack said, and struggled for the words. “He doesn’t think before he acts. He’s got a soft spot for charity cases and…”

“And they can fuck up his life, right? And the life of his son,” Kent said, and Jack could hear the hurt in his voice.

Guilt washed over him, and he shook his head. “Kenny I’m…that isn’t what I meant.”

“Yeah well,” Kent said, and shrugged. “Not everyone can be born to take a baby shit in the Stanley Cup, Zimms. And sometimes people deserve a fucking leg up. This guy is nice, and his whole situation is fucked. His parents literally told him he can only come home if he repents and stops living a life of sin.”

Jack winced. “Kenny…It’s not that I don’t feel for him, but he got himself into this mess.”

Kent let out a harsh laugh. “You know what he told me today? He lost his scholarship because he was too busy trying to get over his phobia of being hit on the ice. He wanted to be an asset to his team, because he owed them a good player. But he got the shit kicked out of him by big, beefy, football-playing homophobes when he was fourteen and now the thought of being hit sends him into a panic. Something you might actually understand.”

Jack swallowed. “I…”

“So he sacrificed his school work for hockey, but it fucked him, and now he’s lost both. So imagine the pride he had to swallow taking your dad up on this offer. Like…I still think you can go out on a limb and take the pressure off your dad,” Kent said, shaking his head back and forth, “but maybe have a little sympathy for the guy.”

Jack deflated. “I’ll try. But don’t expect me to trust him. Everything he told you could be a lie.”

Kent laughed. “Yeah, but as King of all things Bullshit, I think I’d know how to spot one.”

Jack shook his head again, but he didn’t think Kent was wrong. He just wasn’t entirely ready to trust this guy yet. Maybe, if Kent was telling the truth—if Eric was telling the truth—Jack would lighten up. But he’d need proof first. Unfortunately the only way to get that was to spend more time with him, and that was something Jack was not looking forward to doing.

*** 

Bob was just settling into a movie when his skype notification went off. He glanced down and saw Kent on the screen, so he swiped it open and grinned. “Salut.”

Kent grinned. “Yo, pops. Today went well.”

Bob smiled. “Jack warmed up then, eh?”

Kent laughed. “Oh god, fuck no. He kind of hates the kid. But he said he’s happy to like…take him out and whatever so the media doesn’t think you’re tryin’a like…solve some midlife crisis with a twenty-three year old side-piece.”

Bob laughed. “Oh mon dieu. Well…that’s something, I suppose.”

“I think when Jack actually gets to know him, he’ll like him. I was kind of on the fence about the whole thing but damn, the kid is cute. And totally Jack’s type.”

Bob gave Kent a soft grin. “I think so, too. I don’t want to push Jack, I don’t want to manipulate him, you know. But he’ll never put himself out there.”

“I get it,” Kent said. “I want him happy too. And a little nudge never hurt anyone. If he really doesn’t like this kid, like if it just isn’t for him, we back off. Deal?”

Bob nodded. “Mais oui, bien sûr. But you agree I was right. If Jack lets himself open up, he and Eric might be good for each other.”

“Hell yeah,” Kent said. “I mean, there are days I guess I’m still pretty sad it’s not me but like…I’m happy. And Jack deserves that, too. Something more than fucking hockey.”

Bob nodded. “I think it’s going to be good.”

“Okay well I’m gonna go. See you this weekend, right?”

“Of course. À bientôt, mon fils.” Bob hung up, and sat back just as Alicia walked into the room. He smiled as she dropped a kiss on his forehead.

“Still plotting?” she asked.

Bob sighed. “Just agreeing that we let Jack decide. But I think Eric will be good for him. If he lets him.”

“I hope it’s worth the risk,” Alicia said darkly.

“He needs someone,” Bob insisted. “Just a little nudge. I can’t…I don’t know how much longer I can watch him sacrifice everything he deserves for this damn game, ma chérie.”

Her face fell and she nodded. “I know. And if Jack weren’t so stubborn, I think I’d be putting up a bigger fight. And I suppose, in a way, at least Eric gets the help he needs.”

“That’s the comfort I’m taking from all this,” Bob said, and glanced back at the TV where they were showing Falconers highlights. Jack got checked into the boards, but skated through it, to get an assist on Mashkov’s goal. He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I should have done better years ago, but at least I can do this now.”

“One of these days you’ll understand it wasn’t just you. And maybe one of these days Jack will understand that, too.”

Bob nodded, but he wasn’t entirely sure he believed her.

*** 

Eric arrived back at the Haus later that evening, his head full of the events from the afternoon. He’d been unsurprised, though a little disappointed when Jack had left the florist, but Kent had been nice about the whole thing.

“He’s just…not a social butterfly,” he’d said, dragging Eric to Annie’s with the promise of getting to try Eric’s pies.

“It’s just… Bob said I was supposed to go with him, you know? To a few things, but if he won’t even stay in the same room as me…”

“Nah, Bits. Really, it’s just how he is. This weekend will be just fine.”

Eric didn’t expect to feel good or comfortable about any of this. But he found himself sat at a table at Annie’s with two NHL stars—halfway through the pie Mashkov showed up and Eric shook himself out of his shock long enough to get pie for the giant Russian who, after taking a bite, hugged Eric for at least a full minute—and he’d never been more at ease.

He found himself spilling the details of his situation, and more importantly found out that Kent Parson had gone through something similar.

“I just…hate that I messed everything up,” Eric said over his coffee. “I should have done better.”

Kent laughed. “Now you really sound like Jack. He’s got this…obsession. Be better, he was always fuckin’ telling himself. I swear to god. Now he’s a lonely, miserable fuck.” Kent shook his head. “Look, Bits, you did the best you could, right?”

“You are baker like some god,” Mashkov had put in. “Not sell self short, Itty Bitty. Have many talents, and deserve good things. Can do many things best.” Eric had to believe him at that, considering Mashkov had nearly licked his plate clean.

In the end, Eric had walked away with both their phone numbers, and their twitter, and feeling like he’d made actual friends in this.

He was halfway to his room when suddenly two sets of feet came flying down the stairs. Before he could react, he was swept up, thrown over a huge shoulder, and carried to the attic. Landing on the bottom bunk, Eric stared up at Ransom and Holster who were stood over him, hands on their hips.

“True or false, brah,” Ransom said, all-but bouncing on his feet. “You just got fucking followed on twitter by Alexei Mashkov.”

Eric’s cheeks went pink, and he recalled the epic and intense crush Ransom had on the other man. “Um true? I uh…had pie with him and Parson today.”

Suddenly Eric was covered by the body of two, giant D-men. “Holy shit. This sugar daddy thing is the best thing that ever happened to me,” Rans said into Eric’s neck.

“Good grief, y’all, get _off_ me.” Eric shoved until they moved, then he sighed and sat up. “If you two play nice I might introduce you.”

Ransom looked like he was going to pass out, and Holster was grinning. “So really brah, how’d it go?”

Eric stared, then let out a tiny sigh and decided that at the very least, he had trusted friends he could confide in. Because he had a feeling the next year and a half being the pseudo sugar baby of Bob Zimmermann was going to get complicated.

“Get comfy boys, this is gonna take a while,” and grinned when they did just that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Frank mentions of homophobia, Jack's overdose, anxiety, and Bitty's PTSD (from high school bullying).

Eric’s head snapped up from his desk when he heard the frantic thumping on his bedroom door. The handle wriggled, and he scrubbed at his face, his neck aching from falling asleep at his desk, _again_ , and the essay on his laptop only half-finished.

“Bitty! Bro, come on open up holy fucking shit.”

Bitty sprang to his feet, afraid that it was an emergency. Maybe Betsy had finally given up and just set the damn Haus on fire. He threw scrambled to unlock his door, and threw it open to face Holster who was pink in the cheeks and breathing heavy.

“Okay it wasn’t like I didn’t believe you, but fuck _me_ , Bits. Kent fucking Parson is at our door.”

Bitty blinked, then glanced over where his phone sat on silent—something he was trying out in order to study a little more. He reached for it, and swiped his screen open to find six texts. 

**Yo Bits, it’s Kent. I got your number from Bob.**

**He said he wanted you to get fitted for the suit for this weekend. Are you free?**

**I’m only going to be around a little while so I kind of have to do this now.**

**Is your place seriously called the Haus.**

**I’m outside.**

**Fuck Bits, is this a frat Haus?**

Bitty glanced down at his shorts and t-shirt, his half-zipped hoodie, and knew his hair was a mess, and he probably had a crease from the desk seared into his cheek. But Holster didn’t seem to care, grabbing him by the wrist and hauling him down the stairs, into the living room where Kent Parson sat on the Green Couch of Death.

“Oh lord,” Bitty said. “Oh honey don’t sit on that. God only knows what you might catch.”

“Trust me, I’ve seen worse,” Kent said with a laugh, glancing at Ransom who was in a chair, staring like Kent was the damn sun.

“Bless your heart, but trust me, you haven’t.” Bitty walked over and extended a hand, smiling when Kent gave his over and allowed Bitty to pull him up. “Sorry about the texts. I was doin’ homework and fell asleep.”

Kent laughed. “Homework. Fuck, I haven’t…I mean shit even in the Juniors it was kind of like, internet shit.”

Holster laughed at that. “It was pretty fucked.”

Kent turned suddenly, his eyebrows going up. “Oh my god I…you were…didn’t you get an offer from the Schooners?”

Holster shrugged. “Yeah but my ma would’a fucking killed me if I skipped college. Got a couple scouts out now, few offers. Probably for AHL but…”

“Get my number from Eric,” Kent said.

Holster frowned. “Who the fuck is Eric?”

Kent turned wide eyes on Eric who laughed. “Oh lord, no one’s called me that since frog year. They all call me Bitty.”

“Ah fuck bro, sorry,” Holster said, shaking his head. “But uh, yeah I can uh…do that.”

Ransom was still staring, slightly open-mouthed and wide-eyed, and Eric decided it was probably best to get Kent out of the haus before anyone else showed up to make a scene.

“How inappropriate will it be to shop in this?” he asked as he ushered Kent to the door.

Kent gave him a once-over. “You’re fine, Bits.”

“Oh here we go,” Eric said. “Chirping my name already just because I’m small and…”

“Hey,” Kent said, nudging him. “Small ain’t shit. I’m one of the shortest guys in the league, okay? I just think it’s cute.”

“Your fiancé know you flirt like that, Mr Parson?” Eric asked as Kent led him to a bright yellow corvette.

Kent snorted. “Trust me, if he had a problem with it, we would not be getting married. I see a cute guy, I flirt. It’s like…compulsory. Plus we have an open relationship. Polyamorous. It means…”

“Oh, I’ve had the lecture,” Eric said, his cheeks blooming pink. “But um…I’m not um…”

“I wasn’t hitting on you,” Kent said with a wink. “I mean I would. You’re cute as hell, but I think we have a good thing going as it is. Come on, get in, the place closes in like two hours and it’s in fucking Providence.”

Bitty’s mouth went dry. “Oh um. Is Jack um…going to be there?” He fumbled with his seatbelt, but eventually got it clicked in.

Kent sighed as he switched on the car and started down the street. “Nah. He’s already got what he needs for this weekend.”

Eric’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. I um. I mean, not good like…he just…I just don’t think he likes me much.”

Kent shook his head. “It’s not personal. Jack has a complicated relationship with human emotion. And he’s…I mean it’s not _you_ , Bits, but he’s a little worried about what his dad might be getting himself into. With all this.”

Bitty sighed and leant his head against the window. “Yeah I get it. I mean, every time the boys say the words sugar daddy I kind of…” He pressed his palm against his stomach which immediately tensed. “Sounds…like something I should be ashamed of. And I think the worst part is, I am a little? I’m almost twenty-three and I should be able to take care of myself, not let some random famous hockey guy have to pay my way for favours.”

“You know that’s not what this is, right?” Kent said, glancing over with a careful look on his face. “Bits…Bob’s…he’s not like anyone you’ll ever meet. He’s the kind of guy who pulls a kid without a lot of real potential to be much in life, right off the streets, and just love him for no damn reason.”

Eric stared, then asked quietly, “Was that you?”

Kent nodded, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “That was me. And fuck if he doesn’t see the same thing in you.”

“Except maybe not the hockey thing. I’m…I could be good but I’m pretty useless out there.”

“It’s not about the hockey,” Kent said, “but I think you should try to give yourself a little more credit. We all have our hang-ups. It’s no big deal.”

Eric nodded, but he didn’t really have it in him to explain to an award-winning, Stanley Cup holding, NHL star that it was more than just hang-ups, and that he didn’t really have a lot of potential for anything. 

So he stayed quiet the rest of the drive, and they made it into Providence a little more than half an hour later.

Luckily the tuxedo shop was both private, and on the outskirts of the city since Providence, as Kent described it, was, “a fucking shit-show when it comes to traffic.” They parked a block up, and Kent led the way into the small shop, which smelt of rich wool and something musky and woodsy.

They were greeted by a tall, thin man with white hair, and a tape measure hanging round the back of his neck. His voice was accented, but Eric understood him well enough as he was manhandled onto a podium, and immediately measured.

“I don’t have time for something new. What’s Bob wanting?”

“Uh. It’s for the charity thing this weekend,” Kent said absently, staring at his phone instead of the old man. “Whatever you got that can get done quickly.”

“I have a few Armani,” the man said, and Eric almost fell over.

“Hang on. I can’t…Armani? Armani. Like actual…like Georgio Armani?”

Kent glanced up, then laughed. “Chill, Bits. It’s fine. Bob’s footing the bill and he’s got a good account with this guy.”

Eric could not chill though. He was trembling as he was shoved behind a curtain, and into trousers, a light grey button up, and a jacket which fit except in the sleeves. He tried to breathe through it as the guy pinned everything, took a few more measurements, then said, “Come back Thursday, be ready then.”

“Thanks, Greg.” Kent gave him a mock-salute, then hauled Bitty back outside. Instead of heading for the car, however, he turned them down a side-street and said, “I’m hungry, and Alexei’s out with a few of the guys. You wanna hang?”

“Are you asking me if I want to hang out with the Falconers?” Eric asked with wide eyes.

Kent laughed. “I guess I am, yeah. What do you say?”

“I say I’m never gonna get used to this. But hell yes.”

Kent laughed, and slung his arm round Eric’s shoulders as he led the way down the street.

*** 

More than Jack appreciated he was out with the ‘Old guys’ and could enjoy a more quiet evening, he appreciated they didn’t even ask where to go, and that Jack was served a plate of chicken tenders without being bothered.

Kent, who was on some errand he refused to talk about, had texted Alexei not twenty minutes ago and said he was on his way. Jack had been worked up all week about meeting the kid his dad had decided to…foster? Adopt? The phrase sugar daddy or sugar baby confused and irritated him, so he was ignoring it like the plague.

And it wasn’t like he thought the kid was bad. He was cute. For all of Kent’s chirping that Eric would have been Jack’s type—it wasn’t a lie. Jack didn’t indulge his attraction on the rare occasions he felt it, and he could count the number of dates he’d been on in the last five years on one hand. But he wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t completely unaware of himself like most of the world thought. The Hockey Robot persona was the easiest to adopt. It allowed Jack the ability to try less when he had to be social, and frankly he didn’t have a problem with being labelled awkward. And he certainly didn’t mind being alone.

At least, not all the time.

It was really those around him who were overly invested in Jack’s future. And yes, he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t think about what it might like to be in love, to have someone to come home to, but it just wasn’t important. He had enough of the world prying into his personal life, having details he didn’t even want his parents to know, spread open and raw on a webpage.

So whether or not he thought Eric was attractive, he decided, was utterly irrelevant.

And would have remained so if Kent Parson hadn’t walked through the restaurant doors with his arm around said blonde. Jack almost choked on his drink of water as Kent waved hello to everyone, and shoved a red-cheeked Eric toward the table.

“Kenny! You bring favourite Itty Bitty,” Alexei said, and shoved Thirdy out of the booth. “Make room, come on you sit. Kenny I order you pasta. You say chicken sandwich for Bitty, yes?”

Eric’s eyes cut over the team, lingering on Jack with that same, uncomfortable blush. Jack might have thought Eric was using Kent and Alexei—and even him—to rub elbows and gain notoriety with the public, but he actually looked as mortified to be there as Jack might have felt, and he wondered then if maybe Kent had strong-armed the kid into showing up.

“Uh. Hi, y’all.” Eric rubbed the back of his neck as he was shoved into the booth, squeezed between Snowy and Tater. Kent grabbed two chairs for himself and Thirdy, and the plates were rearranged.

“Jack,” Kent said, kicking under the table and missing, hitting Poots who grunted and glowered. “Dude, you didn’t even say hi to our new best friend.”

Jack’s eyes cut to Eric who was blushing harder, and offered a smile like a peace offering. “Hey,” Jack said in his most dead tone.

Kent sighed. “If you’re wondering, yes. He’s always like this. Don’t take it personal. He’s taken bitchy to a new level.”

Eric let out a soft laugh, one that absolutely did not make Jack’s arms break out into gooseflesh. “That’s alright. He’d probably get along with one of the team’s captains. Holster? He gets a little…intense. Or well…maybe they should stay far away from each other.”

“Team? What the hell team you on, kid?” Marty asked.

Eric blinked. “Oh lordy, I play hockey. Or well, I technically play hockey, but I’m…they can’t play me. I’m a liability.”

Jack snorted, and Kent glared, but Eric merely shrugged and looked…maybe even a little hurt by it. Guilt rushed through Jack, though he didn’t take any of it back.

“Dude you’re like eighty pounds soaking wet. How exactly are you a liability?” Snowy asked. “That fuckin’ small, you gotta be fast as hell.”

Eric flushed and shrugged as he nibbled on a bite of his sandwich. “Um. I am. I guess? I usually beat out the guys in suicides. I still practise but um…I can’t get checked.”

Thirdy raised a brow. “You…can’t get checked.”

“Ransom—he’s one of our D-men, the other captain,” Eric said in a quiet voice. “He calls me a fainting goat. It’s…a panic reflex, I guess. I just…collapse if anyone comes near me. It’s…” Eric cleared his throat and Kent quickly put a hand on his arm.

“Dude you don’t gotta say shit to these assholes.”

“Fuck off, Parser,” Marty said. “But really kid, it’s alright if you…”

“Nah it’s fine,” Eric said with a shrug. “I mean, y’all are NHL stars, so it’s kind of embarrassin’ but…yeah I just. I got diagnosed last year with PTSD from some…stuff. And it’s a trigger. We tried to work through it but nothin’ seems to help and the coaches can’t have some guy on the ice who curls up in a foetal position anytime someone comes near him. So I practise with the team, bake a lot of support pies. Help Lardo—she’s team manager. Anything I can.”

“Did you just say you bake?” Snowy asked, which launched a barrage of chirps, and Jack was able to sink back into his seat and try not to think about what Eric had said.

The meal went okay. Jack said nothing, Eric charmed everyone which got under Jack’s skin, and by the time Kent was driving him home, Jack was stomping toward his car with Tater at his elbow.

“Why you are wear angry face, Zimmboni? Was good lunch. Little baker nice guy, you get along okay.”

“You really don’t think he’s up to some shit?” Jack asked, wrenching the car door open. “Like what? My dad just happened upon him crying and just randomly decided to give this kid money?”

“Not kid,” Tater said, elbowing him as Jack shoved the key into the ignition. “And I’m think your dad see a lot in him. Like you. Like Kenny.”

Jack swallowed thickly and refused to admit that maybe he’d seen that too.

*** 

Kent breezed into Jack’s on the phone with one of the wedding venues, and ended the call as he reached into the fridge for beer. “You want?”

Jack, who paused his documentary, shook his head. “No. We have a game Thursday.”

“You could stand to loosen up, Zimms,” Kent said as he threw himself into the chair, cocking one foot up on the table. “You don’t have to love this situation, but Bitty isn’t the fucking anti-christ.”

Jack snorted. “No. He’s just some sob story. My dad will bleed dry of money if he takes in every…” He stopped, realising what he was saying, realising what it meant to Kent. “I’m sorry.”

Kent sighed, taking a long pull from the beer. “I know you’re not talking about me, and I know you don’t mean…” Kent stopped and shook his head. “I’m not really sure what you mean. I know you’re not worried about the money he’s gonna leave you when he dies.”

“What?” Jack said. “Jesus, Kenny. No.”

“But I think maybe there’s a small part of you that resents me for being some poor-ass kid from the streets who didn’t have the advantages you had, and still beat you out in the draft.”

The words were sharp, cutting, but no less true because Jack had wondered that himself. For all the years he and Kent had spent patching up the rift between them, learning to love each other in new ways that didn’t hurt, they could still drag each other better than anyone could.

He sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Just go easy on the kid. Like he’s not gonna come steal your fucking hockey crown, Zimms. He’s just…lost.”

Jack scrubbed a hand down his face. “I should say sorry.”

“Yeah, probably,” Kent said with a laugh. “You can bring him his suit for the charity thing and maybe take him for a coffee and not chirp the fuck out of him.”

Jack’s jaw tensed, but Kent had a point, and if Jack was going to be taking Eric as his … date… then maybe he should at least learn to spend some time with him. If he couldn’t stand the guy for as long as it took to drink a coffee, it wasn’t going to work, anyway.

“Do you have his number? I’ll see where he’s at the morning before the game.”

“And miss your morning skate?” Kent asked, chirping wide eyes. He laughed when Jack flipped him off, then gave over the number. “Don’t meet him at his place though. That house is a fucking liability and even though I know your ass is insured for literal millions, I wouldn’t take the risk.”

*** 

Eric was lacing into his skates when his phone went off, loudly.

“No tweeting and skating!” Ransom shouted as he grabbed the bucket of pucks from Chowder.

“That’s my text,” Eric shouted back, and grabbed his phone from his bag. He saw an unfamiliar number on the screen, and felt his heart leap into his throat when he read the text.

**This is Jack Zimmermann. I have your suit for the auction. Kent suggested I bring it to you, and perhaps we can have a talk over coffee. Where are you right now?**

Eric stared at the screen a full two minutes before his shaking fingers tapped out: _I’m at Faber, it’s the rink at my school. Um, I have to practise now but I can call you when I’m done._

He added a couple of what he hoped were non-threatening emoticons at the end, then turned his phone to silent, and hit the ice. Jack was going to bring him his suit. And have coffee with him.

Jack Zimmermann.

Eric was so lost in thought, he didn’t realise a puck was flying toward him until it clipped him on the thigh pad. He let out an oomph, then turned to see Holster grinning at him.

“Brah, what are you thinking about?”

“Uh. Jack Zimmermann.”

“Oh hell yeah,” Rans said, skating up. “Dude, that’s like a lot of my day, not gonna lie. Last week I was watching them against the Caps and that fucking ass….”

“Oh my god,” Eric said, one large glove covering his face. “Not like that. I just…I think he hates me.”

Holster leant his arm on Rans’ shoulder. “Did he say something to you? I mean that guy is a fucking beast, but I’m pretty sure Rans and I could take him if we need to.”

Eric laughed and felt a warmth in his chest because although he hadn’t done much to help his team, and he felt he hadn’t really earnt it, they were like family. He ached when he thought about them leaving, about everyone graduating and going their own way into adulthood. “It’s alright. I just think he’s a little…I think he thinks his dad’s doing something…stupid.”

“Well brah. Sugar daddy,” Rans said, waggling his brows.

“Oh lord,” Eric groaned.

“Bittle!” Coach Murray’s voice cut through their conversation, and Eric swung round on his skates. “I want you to run some drills with Chow. We’ve got Princeton coming up and I’m tired of them wiping the floor with us.”

Eric sighed, gripping his stick tighter and skated over. The pucks were sat on the ice, and Eric took a breath, grabbing one. He had soft hands, good control, and he was one of the few who could sink goals in past Chowder during practise. Chowder was young, and excitable, and fun, but he was also a damn beast on the ice, and Eric appreciated about him.

He met Chowder’s gaze, nodded, then began to skate at him at full speed.

Chowder managed to block every other puck, which was decent for the afternoon. Eric was eventually called off, doing drills with Ransom, then with Shitty. He couldn’t play, but he could practise, and being on the ice felt good. He loved hockey. He loved playing shinny with the boys in the winter when the pond was frozen over, he loved skating Faber.

He hated himself for letting his past get to him. He hated that even thinking about a check sent shivers up his spine, sent his fingers numb and head spinning. He was angry—at the boys who’d hurt him, at his parents who did nothing to stop it. His father for making him believe he should have been stronger, and his mother for thinking that patting him on the shoulder and telling him, “Eventually they won’t be around you anymore,” was going to make it better.

Anxiety crept up his spine, and Eric breathed through it as he finished up with Dex and Nursey. He was just heading round to grab a few of the stray pucks when he heard Rans cough and say, “Oh shit is that Zimmermann?”

Eric spun at the same time Shitty did, and saw his moustached friend throw his hands up and yell, “Holy fuck you motherfucking beaut!” at Jack who was stood near the edge of the rink, watching with his arms crossed over his chest.

Eric felt his heart speed up, and he glanced round. Only a few of them actually knew what was happening—ones he trusted most. Ones he knew wouldn’t say anything in front of the others—but his nerves were fired up. Would they be able to tell? How the hell was Eric going to explain Jack’s presence?

The boys immediately crowded round the Falconer, and Jack took it all in stride. He signed a couple jerseys, and took a few selfies, and gave a few chirpy answers to some of their more invasive questions. Then he said, “I’m here to see Eric about a pie?”

The boys all turned to stare at Eric who was still hung back, cheeks flame-red. “Uh for his mom. She found me on twitter.”

That seemed to satisfy, and he caught Holster’s smirk before their captain shuffled everyone off to the locker room to change. When they were alone, though Eric could see Hall and Murray lingering just out of earshot, he skated up to the wall.

“Um. So you found Faber?”

Jack shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck and actually looked a little sheepish. “Sorry. I should have actually…waited for you to call. But I was in town.”

“Goodness gracious,” Eric said in a rush, shaking his head. “Are you kiddin’ me? You just made those boys’ entire month! It’s fine, Jack. It’s just…a little embarrassin’ that you saw us play. We’re just…”

“You made it to the frozen four last season,” Jack said, and laughed when Eric looked surprised. “I keep my eye on the NCAA. We get a lot of decent guys from college.”

Eric swallowed. “Well consider yourself lucky, one’a them won’t be me. Can’t get scouted if I’m never playing.” Eric meant it as a joke, but he saw the way Jack’s brows dipped.

“You’re…” Jack shook his head. “Do you need to shower before coffee?”

Eric bit his lip, then laughed. “I should. I skated a little harder than usual. Don’t wanna be offensive. Just give me ten, okay?”

Jack nodded, and Eric rushed through, making it back out in seven.

*** 

Annie’s was closest, and Eric felt a little weird not only bringing Jack Zimmermann into his place of work, but also since it was where the whole thing happened with Bob. But it had a little bit of poetry to it, Eric thought as Jack picked the same table Bob had. It almost made him laugh, and he almost commented on them being more alike than Jack realised.

But then again, with everything Bob said, Eric had a feeling Jack might not appreciate something like that, and he kept his mouth shut.

“You take a seat,” Eric said, “and I’ll get everything. You want a coffee?”

Jack shrugged. “Tea would be better. I have a game this evening. But I can, you know. I think I’m good for it.”

Eric’s eyes widened, then he laughed. “Yes well, I actually work here, Mr Zimmermann, so I know what’s good. You just sit your behind in the seat and I’ll be back.”

The truth was, Eric needed the space to think more than he wanted to impress Jack with a pie. Which, luckily, there was one fresh from the day before still in the pastry case. He smiled at Sarah who was working the barista bar, and then pulled the pie out, cutting and heating two slices as he poured Jack’s water and grabbed the tea box.

Sarah was already on his pumpkin spice latte, and handed that over, Eric throwing everything onto a small tray, and he carried it to the table where Jack was sat, his knee bouncing with obvious nerves. He raised a brow at the sight of pie, and Eric sighed. “I gave your dad this same pie, and he swore it solved world peace.”

Jack snorted, but took the plate and the fork, then selected a black tea. With the tension eased, Eric sat down himself, poking his fork into a soft apple, but he didn’t take a bite.

“Are you here to tell me it’s off?” Eric blurted. The thought had been festering in the back of his mind since he’d gotten Jack’s text, even though Jack hadn’t said anything like that. But the worry had been plaguing him since Bob’s offer.

What if he fucked up? What if someone talked some sense into that old Hockey Legend and he decided this wasn’t a good idea? Eric wouldn’t have blamed him, in fact he thought it would probably be a smart idea, but he was just getting used to thinking that maybe—just maybe—the universe was going to be kind. For a little while.

Jack, however, looked startled. “I…no? And I think if it were, that would be something you hear from my father.” He dunked his tea into the water a few times, then sipped on it, grimaced, and dunked it a little more. “I’m here about the suit. And euh…Kent thinks maybe I owe you an apology.”

Eric raised a brow. “Do you think you owe me an apology?”

“Well…”

Eric sighed. “Jack, you are who you are, and I’m not lookin’ for you to be sugar and spice with me. Okay? I’d like it if you didn’t hate me, seein’ as we’re fixin’ to spend time together more than once. But…I’m…it’s okay. I know I’m a lot.”

“You’re…” Jack swallowed. “You’re not a lot. And I could stand to be a little nicer. It’s just this whole thing with my father…” He trailed off and gave a frustrated sigh.

“Yeah,” Eric said. “I get it. I mean…I don’t. My dad he…” He let out a tense laugh. “There’s a lot between us. He tries to be a good guy, but I don’t think he ever loved me the way your dad loves you.”

Jack stared. “Um.”

Eric realised what he was saying, and shook his head. “I’m not…I’m sorry, Jack. That’s not my place. I just…it’s not often you see a perfect stranger who wants to help just because. For no reason, you know? Who talks to you like you’re not the little queer kid fucking up the hockey team—but as a person who deserves help.”

Jack’s face was unreadable, but he nodded after a second. “He’s always been a good man. To me, to Kent. To everyone who knows him. It’s…hard to live up to.”

Eric shook his head, smiling gently. “Silly that you think you should. You’re your own man, Jack. You should live like yourself, not Bad Bob the Second.”

“A lot easier said than done,” Jack replied quietly.

Eric smiled again. “Yeah. Trust me, Jack. I get it.”

*** 

Jack left Eric at what he called the Haus, which was a hovel just as bad as Kent had said. He nearly called Eric back. Nearly insisted he find better lodgings, because the last thing he wanted to deal with was a crisis of living when the place collapsed and was condemned.

But Eric seemed happy enough to take his suit and go inside, and said he’d be seeing Jack soon. Jack planned to pick Eric up before the benefit, and they’d spend the night in Boston at a hotel. Jack was going to play up the date angle, since Bob would be there, and Jack was serious about not letting rumours fly.

Bob knew what it was like to live under a microscope, but not the way Jack did. The scandal of his overdose, of his anxiety, of being queer—that was something Bob never had to deal with. He’d had a solid marriage, and a solid career, and if a tabloid reported him spending too much time with some model, or some singer, they could laugh it off.

But Jack wanted to spare his father the ugliest side of the media—the side that made sure he couldn’t’ go to bed at night without doubting his own self worth. It was easy to blame Bob for how Jack felt, but Jack knew the truth. It was the outside, who always made Jack feel unworthy of his father’s love.

He was just getting to a place now he felt he could stomach just how much his parents cared for him, and now he had this. Eric Bittle.

His mind drifted as he headed toward his apartment, back to his conversation at the café. The easy and knowing way Eric had said, “Trust me Jack. I get it.” And the way Jack had believed him. Because for all that Jack was frustrated with the whole thing, he was finally starting to understand that Eric was everything Kent said he was. Hurting, confused, alone, and deserving of better things. So if Jack could try just a little harder, if Jack could help his father help Eric…well it was the very least he could do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: threats of violence, mild homophobic language, and Eric discussing some of the bullying and homophobia from his past.

“Holy fucking shit, Bits. I think I might die.” Shitty leant in Eric’s doorway, staring with wide eyes as Eric fussed with his suit in the mirror.

Eric was always impeccably dressed, but stood there in Armani like he was born to wear it, even Eric was impressed with himself. The suit wasn’t tailored to him, but it might as well have been. It showed off the hockey butt he’d been working diligently at, and the cut of the jacket hung cinched at the waist, making his shoulders look broad. The colour was perfect for his tone, and the bowtie he’d chosen over the tie Jack had sent, gave it his own, personal touch.

“Like, I’m pretty hard core aro but man I kind of want to marry you right now.”

Eric rolled his eyes, but let Shitty gather him into a hug. “Thanks, Shits. I swear though, I’m so nervous I might throw up. Lord, what if I throw up in Jack’s car.” He covered his face, but Shitty quickly drew his arms down.

“Brah, it’s gonna be fine, I swear. You’re gonna go charm the hell out of everyone, have a few drinks, enjoy being the sugar baby of a fucking famous hockey player…”

“Shitty,” Eric groaned, shaking his head. His cheeks were coloured with a high blush, and he didn’t want to think what he might say if someone implied something like that during the benefit. Bob was going to be there, along with Alicia, Jack, Kent, and most of the Falconers. When Kent texted earlier, he implied that other players might be there too. Like Crosby and Malkin, and some of the old, heavy-hitters like Mario and Gretzky which made Eric want to crawl into the floor and die.

He wasn’t even sure how he and Jack were going to explain their relationship, and since Jack didn’t text more than one-word answers whenever Eric reached out, there was no way to tell if he had a plan.

So he was going to wing it. And pray a lot.

“Bits, bro, your knight in shining Jaguar is here!” Ransom called from the living room.

“Oh lord,” Eric said, his face paling, and Shitty put a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Look, Lards is here and she’s got her car and if fucking anything happens, we’ll come fuck some guys up and rescue you, okay? Call and check in. You got this, but we got you.”

Eric let some of the tension bleed from his shoulders, knowing that he had friends—who were his family now—and he was safe. He’d go to the dinner, meet with Bob after to discuss their formal contract, and then it would be over. Eric’s tuition would be covered for the remainder of his degree, and he wouldn’t lose the Haus, or the boys, even if he was eventually booted off the hockey team.

That wasn’t something he wanted to think about now but…it was enough to let himself be reminded he was okay.

“I’ll check in,” Eric said quietly, then hurried down the stairs, and out of the haus lest he risk the wrath of Jack Zimmermann.

The car was one of the nicest Eric had ever seen. New, and a soft mottled grey with chrome. It was a convertible, though the top was up, and Eric could see Jack’s deadpan face through the window as he hurried over. He let himself in, sliding into the comfortable, warmed seats, and buckled his safety belt.

“Hey Jack,” he said with a grin. “Thanks for picking me up.”

Jack stared, grunting a hello, then seemed to consider it and said, “I was mostly just curious to see if this place had fallen down overnight.”

Eric laughed as Jack backed out into the street. “Lord you’d think, wouldn’t you? But for all the Epikegsters it’s seen, and the death of a couple sorority sisters, it just keeps standing. Shitty thinks it’s held up on the sheer will of hockey players. Since we seem to have the most.”

That didn’t get a full smile out of Jack, but at least a small quirk of the lips which Eric considered a victory. He let Jack lapse into silence, though his nerves wanted to keep him chattering. He settled for bouncing his knee and humming quietly until Jack spoke again.

“Where’s the tie that came with the suit?”

Eric flushed, his fingers fluttering up to his bowtie. “Oh um. Well…I thought this was um. More me?”

“It clashes,” he said, though he sounded more matter of fact than mean, even if it hurt a little to hear it.

Eric blushed harder. “Sorry we can um. Go back if you like. I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine,” Jack said.

Terrified to upset him more, Bitty clamped his jaw shut, and said nothing for the near hour it took to arrive at the venue. He’d have been more nervous if there was time for it, but the moment Jack pulled up to the valet, it was all cameras and people shuffling them to and fro.

Eric had never seen a press event like this, and was almost in awe of the way Jack was able to stop and pose for photos, looking simultaneously dapper and smart, whilst also completely devoid of emotion. He kept to Eric’s elbow, though not touching him, and he answered a few cursory questions. None of them, luckily, were asking about the blonde at his elbow, so eventually they were able to slip inside and into the main area.

“What uh. What is this, exactly?” Eric asked, glancing round at the huge room.

Jack lifted a brow. “Charity event. Each team chose one, and there’s a silent auction, and a plated dinner.”

“Goodness,” Eric breathed. He was about to ask what Jack’s plans were if anyone asked about them, but at that moment Kent, Alexei, and Bob appeared. Eric thought he’d be more nervous, but the sight of friendly faces eased a knot of tension in his stomach, and he was enveloped into a hug by Kent, laughing as he was pressed against a broad chest.

“Yo, Bits.” Kent released him, but was still grinning. “Are you wearing a bowtie? That’s amazing.”

Eric felt his cheeks heat up, and he glanced at Jack who had no outward response to Kent’s praise. “I just thought it might be fun.”

“I like it,” Bob said, and when Eric glanced over at Jack _then_ , Jack was openly scowling. “It has personality. A lot of these events lack that.”

“I’m taking personal offense to that,” Kent said, throwing his arm round Eric. “Come on, let’s find a drink then see what over-priced shit is up for grabs.”

Eric wanted to protest, but the way Jack was glaring at him, he thought it was probably best to diffuse the situation. Bob and Jack were talking, heads bowed toward each other, and Jack still looked furious.

“Was that something I said?” Eric asked as Kent slid up to the bar and ordered two whiskey sours.

With a sigh, Kent shook his head. “Jack’s…he’s got some…issues with his dad. Insecurity. It took him years to get over it with me and it’s not…it’s not personal.”

It felt personal. It felt like one step forward, ten steps back with him. He’d managed to make Jack smile—a tiny bit—one time. And now Jack was back to hating his guts. “Maybe I shouldn’t be here,” he said, taking the glass Kent offered over. “I mean, if he’s that upset over one tiny compliment…”

“Jack needs to get his head out of his ass,” Kent replied. He looped his arm through Eric’s, then pulled him into the next room where several tables were sat. The tables held massive boards detailing out each prize, and a small list for people to sign their names which was covered by a white sheet.

Eric’s eyes widened when he saw what was being offered. Everything from boats to trips across the globe, to homes. They perused the table, and Kent stopped to bid twice—once on a trip to Greece, and once on a cruise which would tour the south pacific.

“See anything you like?” Kent asked, stepping away from the cruise table.

Eric laughed, putting a hand to his cheek. “Bless your heart, but there’s no way I could bid on anything.”

Kent shrugged. “Hey like…why not? I mean I could get it for you. Think of it like a grad gift—and like most of it goes to charity anyway. And we probably won’t win so…”

“I appreciate it,” Eric said quietly, dropping his voice even more when he saw Jack and Alexei walk in. “But um. It’s been enough with Bob and all this uh. You know. Stuff? Even if it’s for charity I don’t think I’d feel right.”

“Suit yourself.” Kent led Eric back to Alexei and Jack, just as Jack broke off to jot his name down at a few tables.

Eric swallowed thickly, watching the curve of his back, the arch of his large hockey butt, and hating how attractive he found the other man. Because he was so angry, he hated Eric so much, and the last thing Eric needed was to fall in love with a guy who would never like him.

He let out a tiny sigh and sipped his drink.

“Are you even old enough to be drinking that?” came Jack’s voice, and Eric jumped. 

He flushed and shrugged. “Barely? I turned twenty-one this year. I’m not a big drinker so you can relax. I won’t embarrass y’all here.”

Jack lifted a brow, looking almost confused. “I didn’t think you would.”

Eric wanted to slap himself in the forehead. He had no idea how to figure this man out, and he was pretty sure trying to would be the death of him.

*** 

“Are you going to drop the death glare?” Bob asked as Jack slid into his seat. The dinner was about to begin, though most of the players and their families were slow to make their way to the tables. Eric had somehow managed to get roped into a conversation with Mario and Kent, and although he couldn’t hear what they were saying, he could hear Eric’s laugh all the way across the room.

It made his stomach twist, and his face go hot, and he wasn’t sure anyone had affected him that way before. It was disturbing, really, and Jack knew he was glaring, but he couldn’t seem to help it.

“I’m not,” he snapped.

Bob snorted a laugh. “Do you not like him? I understand you might not like what I’m doing here…”

“Papa,” Jack bit out. “I’m trying to protect you, and I can’t do that if you tell every damn person in the room that you’re a…”

“Sugar daddy?” Alicia supplied as she slid in next to her husband. When Jack’s cheeks bloomed red, she laughed. “Sweetheart…”

“Don’t,” Jack groused. “Please just…I can’t actually take the focus off you if you won’t let me.”

“No one asked you to do that,” Bob said carefully.

Jack sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “No, you wouldn’t. But if you’re not going to look out for yourself, papa, who will? You have no idea what it’s like to have media on you the way I do.”

Bob’s face softened. “Jack. I can take care of myself. I’m…you know I love you and it means the world you’d want to help but…maybe get to know Eric. Maybe go to events with him because he’s a nice person. Fun to hang out with.”

Jack eyed him, a raised brow, and saw the blush in his father’s cheeks. “If this is some sort of set-up…”

“No,” Bob said, a little too quickly. “It isn’t.”

Jack’s jaw went tense, but he said nothing as Kent made his way over with Eric under his arm, and the meal was served.

The dinner conversation went as any conversation did. Jack was put off by a lot of the food, only picking at his plate, but no one chirped him about it. At one point Eric leant in and said, “Are you okay?” but Jack quickly brushed off his concern and the subject was dropped.

There was dancing after, just before they announced the winners of the auction, and then they’d do a small ceremony thanking the team owners for their charity, and they’d be free to go. Jack’s skin was humming with anxiety, the night drawing on long. All he wanted was to change out of his suit, into something comfortable and soft, and lay on his sofa and watch tape.

As Kent dragged Alexei onto the dance floor, just after Bob dragged Alicia, Jack managed to slip off and grab some water from the bar, and hide behind a massive pillar where the music was less, and the voices were dimmed.

He pushed his head against the cool wall and took a few breaths. It was just so much. Noise and attention, and everything that his father was putting him through. Jack didn’t understand why Bob cared so little about what this could do to his life. He’d seen the impact media attention had on Jack. He’d seen the worst of it—the worst it could get—and yet he was playing with fire?

The whole thing ignited a flame in Jack’s belly again, to put a stop to this. But what could he do? He wouldn’t be able to talk Eric out of it. Bob was Eric’s only hope, and there was a small part of Jack who understood. It was the small part who got past his resentment about Kent when he saw just how much good Bob had done for him.

But the risk was so great. Kent had gone on to the NHL. Kent had become like family.

He wasn’t some random, strange college student with deposits into his bank account. He couldn’t even play hockey, his hang-up apparently bad enough he’d been benched for the entire season. So what would it look like if anyone found out? Bob had no good reason to help this kid. Unless, of course, he was Jack’s boyfriend but that was getting harder and harder to pretend when Jack couldn’t get over his own hang-ups.

He groaned, pressing his forehead harder into the wall until the small bite brought him back down to himself. He breathed, then rubbed the spot on his skin, and backed up. Glancing round, he saw couples dancing, people talking, but there was no sign of Eric anywhere.

Alexei and Kent were taking a small break, so Jack wandered over and leant on the back of Kent’s chair. “Where did Eric go?”

Kent looked startled. “He said he was grabbing a drink, then going to look for you. He said you looked tense.”

Jack felt a sudden, strange well of panic in his gut. Had he really driven Eric off? Or was he lost. He breathed through it. “Thanks. I’ll go look for him.”

Kent offered to go, but Jack ignored him and began to weave through the crowd. There was no sign of the smaller man anywhere, and it wasn’t until he wandered near the terrace that he froze at the sound of an almost hysterical whisper.

“Please just…I don’t want to. I’m here with someone.”

“Yeah,” came a chirping voice. “I saw. But tell me you’re not actually interested in that fucking guy. There’s bets that he’s anatomically a Ken Doll and…”

“That’s enough,” Eric’s voice all-but shouted. Jack startled and started forward, but Eric wasn’t done. “I don’t know who you think you are but…” His voice cut off with a cry, and a thump, and Jack rushed out to find someone—no one he recognised luckily—holding Eric up against the wall.

Jack reacted first, acting before thinking, and had the guy by the back of the neck and away from Eric. Eric looked pale, his hands shaking, but Jack kept his focus on the guy who looked like he might piss himself.

“I suggest you leave, before I have you escorted out,” Jack growled.

The guy looked defiant for all of a second, until perhaps he remembered who Jack was—who he knew, who his father was—and then he wrenched out of Jack’s grasp and rushed back in.

When he was gone, Jack turned to Eric, feeling his nerves getting the better of him. “What the hell were you doing out here with a guy like that? A total stranger? Is this a game to you?”

Eric’s eyes went wider, and his shaking got worse. “I… I didn’t…”

“Jack!”

They both turned to see Bob in the doorway of the terrace, looking both worried and angry. His gaze went from Jack to Eric, and then he let out a small sigh.

“Let’s go home. Kenny can stay with mama and let you know if you won anything. Give her your valet ticket.”

His father’s voice booked no argument, and Jack suddenly felt like a scolded teenager. He bowed his head and brushed past Bob, back into the party. The truth was, he was desperate to go, and he knew he’d scared Eric which hadn’t been his intention.

The whole thing was just too damn much.

He swept by the table, reaching into his pocket for his valet ticket, and let it drop next to Alicia’s dessert plate. “I’m going home with papa.”

Alicia gave him a long look, then reached out to squeeze his hand. “I love you, sweetheart. I’ll see you later.”

Jack gave a wordless nod, speech just too much for him right then, and he followed the shadows of Bob and Eric out the main doors, to the valet stand where they were waiting for Bob’s rental car. Bob had a hand, firm and grounding, on Eric’s shoulder, and he gave Jack a calculating look.

Jack wanted to say something, to apologise or at least to check on Eric, but he couldn’t. He just breathed, and Bob didn’t push it, and before long, they were on the road and heading back to Jack’s apartment.

*** 

When they got in, no one stopped Jack from retreating into his bedroom. He closed the door with a firm click, then went into the bathroom and ran the shower as hot as he could stand it. He was calmed down enough to talk, but he knew it would be better if Bob handled it.

Eric was nearly attacked and Jack wanted to hit something. He’d left Eric alone for a minute. He hadn’t been doing his _job_ , and it had almost gone south.

Jack kept the shower quick, and threw on a pair of joggers and a t-shirt before venturing out. It had been nearly an hour, and he found Eric seated at the breakfast bar with a mug of tea between his hands, and Bob nowhere to be found.

“Um.” Jack cleared his throat, then said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

Eric blinked at him, his cheeks going a little rosy, then he shook his head. “No, you shouldn’t have. I didn’t go out there with him. He was houndin’ me when I was trying to get a drink and I tried to dodge him, but he saw me and followed me out.”

Jack leant on the counter, his arms crossed. “You know who he was?”

Eric stared, then laughed quietly. “No, but your dad asked me the same thing and I swear he’s havin’ someone pull up security footage. I was fine though. I am fine.”

“You didn’t look fine,” Jack countered.

Eric shrugged. “Didn’t feel great, but you got there in time.”

Jack felt another wash of guilt, and he shook his head. “You were defending me—which you don’t have to do. I know what people think about me, Eric. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Well it bothers me,” Eric said, a bite to his tone Jack didn’t expect. “That isn’t you, and no one knows it because they’d rather believe what the shitty people on ESPN say than actually get to know you. But I ran my mouth and almost got myself…”

“No,” Jack said, cutting him off. “You didn’t get yourself anything. He was an asshole.”

Eric’s eyes glanced down at his tea, then he sighed. “Just…feels a lot like before. When I was a kid, and people shovin’ me into lockers or broom cupboards. Every time I felt someone coming up behind me I’d panic because I thought, this is it. This is when they really get me.” Jack watched his fingers go tight on the mug. “They shoved me down the stairs one day. The boys at school, hollering some real nasty stuff. I had pretty quick reflexes, you know from skating, so I managed to stop myself from getting hurt. But now whenever someone comes at me like that…”

Jack let out a tiny puff of air. “I made it worse. Yelling at you.”

Bitty shrugged. “Coach—my dad—he used to. I just don’t think he knew how to deal with his son being bullied and it was easier to blame me for being a homo than it was to blame his football boys for beating me up all the time. He thought it would make me tougher, I guess.”

Jack felt his shoulders tense to the point of pain, because for all he thought this situation was going to end up a shit-show, no one deserved that. And Eric was kind. Jack hadn’t done anything to earn the defence Eric had given him, and Eric had been willing to all-but take a beating from a guy twice his size because the guy had chirped Jack.

“Do you want to go home?” Jack asked quietly. “My parents are staying in a hotel, and they could drive you. Or Kenny would, I’m sure. They should be back soon.”

Eric shrugged. “Yeah I mean. I’m sure I’m in your hair and…”

“You’re not,” Jack said quickly. “If…if you want to stay, I mean. You can. I have a guest room and at the very least I owe you for what you said.”

“You don’t. Jack, no one should talk that way about anyone.” Eric sighed. “But not having to drive back tonight sound pretty nice so if you’re sure…”

“I am,” Jack insisted.

Just then, Bob walked through the door and gave his son a pointed look. “All’s well, boys?”

Eric smiled. “Right as rain, thank you.”

Some of Bob’s obvious tension eased. “So plans for tonight? Your mother’s on her way so…”

“I’ll drive Eric back to Samwell in the morning,” Jack said. “Maybe we can get breakfast before.”

Bob’s face lit up like the eighth night of Hanukkah, and Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Good yes. Okay. I’ll head down when maman gets here, and we can meet you then. Eric, do you need anything at all before I go?”

Eric shook his head, but hopped off the stool and gave Bob a hug. Jack watched his father’s face go from startled to pleased—the same way he looked when he realised Kent was safe, and happy, and loved him. The jealousy he normally felt was eclipsed by the relief that Eric really was okay, and by the feeling that he wanted Eric to have something. He had no family, and his future was in danger.

The least Jack could do was support this.

Bob detached from Eric, then walked over and hugged Jack. “Call me in the morning,” he said quietly. “And sleep well.”

Jack nodded, then led Eric back to the guest room. “I’ll get you something to sleep in. And Kenny probably has something you can fit in so you won’t have to go to breakfast in Armani.”

Eric’s eyebrows rose. “Was that…a chirp?”

Jack couldn’t help a tiny grin, and he went into his room to grab a shirt and shorts, ignoring the warmth blooming in his gut. “Let me know if you need anything,” he said as he tossed the clothes onto the end of the bed. “And thank you. I really am sorry.”

“I accept your apology,” Eric said, and surprising Jack, put one arm round him, squeezing lightly. “Night.”

“Night,” Jack said, his voice oddly tight, and he quickly escaped to his room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this mostly written already, so I just put the finishing touches and even though it's a little shorter (by a few hundred words) than my last update, I figured I'd post it anyway.
> 
> Up next is checking practise. I'm sticking with some canon events, though not all of them. And like I said to a few readers--there will be chapters after Jack and Bitty get together, so we will have some time to enjoy the together fluff. It's not just going to end right when they first kiss. So no worries!

Eric woke, drowsy in a warm patch of sun. His body ached, from the tension he realised, the night before. The tension from the near attack, from being shoved against the wall and Jack showing up just in time—only to yell at him.

It had startled Eric, thrown his head into a panicked spin, but a tiny voice of logic at the back of his head told him Jack had just been scared. It was that tiny voice, that little reminder, which made it easy to accept Jack’s apology. Mostly, Eric knew, because the apology was genuine. Jack had disappeared after getting back to his condo, and Eric easily recognised the look of guilt on his face.

Eric was no saint when it came to stress. When he was at his limits, he was passive aggressive and sharp, and could easily say things he didn’t mean—things that hurt, because it was easier than dealing with the situation at hand. But Eric wanted to believe Jack was a good guy under all that stoic apathy, and the night before proved it.

When Jack disappeared, Bob immediately took Eric outside and got the details. He’d been just as angry as Jack, though he directed it at the party, and the person who’d come after him. “I’m going to set this straight,” Bob insisted, even when Eric begged him to let it go. “I don’t want to put you in the spotlight,” Bob said to Eric’s protests, “but we can’t sit back and let him get away with it. I can handle it privately. If you trust me?”

Eric did trust him. “Alright. I just…don’t want to feel unsafe.”

“You will never be unsafe,” Bob promised.

Logically, Eric knew that wasn’t true—there wouldn’t be someone around to protect him all the time—but he felt the meaning deep in his chest. What Bob was saying was Eric would always have back up. He would never have to weather things like this alone again.

Bob was standing in where Coach had failed Eric, and that meant…a lot. But it was also hard to stomach. Deep down Eric wanted to believe always that his father loved him somewhere. But the more he talked to Bob, the more he realised what unconditional love of a child should look like, and it made the sting worse.

It was easier to focus on other things. Like sitting down with Bob and signing the forms. He gave up his checking account information, and though he attempted to protest a weekly allowance, Bob wouldn’t hear of it.

“I’m not paying you an NHL salary,” Bob said firmly. “But you shouldn’t have to split your time between work, hockey, and school. Eric, you have a year to go after this. Just the one, and maybe some summer classes. It’s okay to make school your priority.”

Eric sighed. “Hockey seems pointless. They’re not going to kick me off the team, but I’ll never be able to play.”

“I’m not telling you that you have to play,” Bob said, letting a warm hand drop on Eric’s shoulder. “But if you want to put a little more effort into it, time you would have spent at the coffee shop, well now’s your chance.”

Eric felt uncertain, and a little nervous, but eventually he nodded. They discussed how much Bob would deposit, that he would provide anything financially necessary for any events Eric attended, whether it was with him, him and Jack, or Jack alone, and if Eric needed anything, the contract could be re-negotiated. It was written in explicit terms, Eric was not obligated to perform any tasks, sexual or non-sexual, and the contract would be terminated if one or both parties agreed.

It meant Bob could end it at any time. But it also meant Eric could. And Eric didn’t think for even a second Bob would use it against him, or end things without warning.

So he signed. And Bob signed. And Eric took his copy, and Bob took his, and it was done.

It was official.

When Jack had come out a little while later, Bob had gone down to speak with a few of the people running security on the auction, and Eric had just finished steeping some tea he found in Jack’s cabinet. He was startled to see him, and the warmth spreading through his limbs was hard to ignore, especially in the face of everything that happened.

And when Jack apologised, and had even gone so far as to chirp him, Eric realised something terrible. Something awful.

Eric liked him.

Eric was attracted to him.

It wasn’t the best feeling in the world, because he knew how Jack was, and it was quite clear that even if Jack was warming to him a little, he wasn’t interested. This wasn’t the first time, of course, Eric had gone for someone unattainable. His therapist said it was a defence mechanism from being hurt by the boys in his high school, but he thought he’d been doing better.

He’d even had a date to the Winter Screw that year—and though he’d gotten his shoes puked on instead of a good night kiss, it was a big step. It was a good step.

And now it felt like he was back to square one.

The warmth from the sun was shadowed by Eric’s downward spiral, and he attempted to avoid it by jumping out of bed as quickly as he could, and heading to the bathroom. He used the toilet, then washed his face, and when he ventured into the living room, still in the too-big clothes, he found Jack sat at the counter nursing a cup of coffee.

Jack looked as tired as Eric felt, but offered an actual smile, even if it was only with half his mouth, when he turned to see Eric there. “There’s coffee,” he said, nodding at the counter. “My dad already called. We can meet him in about an hour. And Kenny dropped off some clothes.” Jack jutted his chin to the arm of the sofa, and Eric saw a pile of clothes folded up. “It’s probably Aces stuff, because he’s an asshole.”

That startled a laugh out of Eric, who shook his head. “Well I guess it’s that or Armani.”

Jack’s smile widened to both sides of his mouth. “You can use the shower if you want, too.”

Eric couldn’t help a small grin. “Are you saying I smell bad?”

“I…no I…I didn’t mean…” Jack spluttered, but when he saw Eric’s grin, he stopped. “Chirping.”

Eric shrugged. “Payback.” He moved into the kitchen, grabbing a mug, and helped himself to the coffee. It was still very warm, even with the milk and sugar he stirred in, and he joined Jack at the breakfast bar.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked.

Eric bit his lip, then sighed. “I…it was okay.”

“Uncomfortable or…?”

“No,” Eric said quickly, his southern upbringing making him terrified he might come off as an ungrateful houseguest. “The room was great, really. It was just…a lot. Last night. Hard to sleep after all that.”

“Yeah,” Jack said with a small sigh. He fiddled with the rim of his coffee mug, not looking up at Eric. “I know what you mean.”

Eric licked his lips, then took a big drink of his coffee. “I uh. I’m sorry it’s been a lot. I mean last night wasn’t my fault but…”

Jack quickly shook his head. “It wasn’t and it’s fine. I’m…glad you didn’t leave.”

The words were warm and sincere, and Eric felt something shifting a little as he eased himself onto a stool near Jack. “Thanks,” he said.

“So. My dad said you were quitting your job at Annie’s. He said it was part of the…agreement?”

Eric searched Jack’s face and tone for anger or disgust, but Jack’s tone was neutral, and he couldn’t read his expression. “Um. Yeah. He thought it was a good idea if I um. Don’t? Work, that is. He said I can put focus into school which I know I need to. And well. Into hockey if I want, though that seems pretty pointless.”

Jack stared at him a while. “I could help.”

Eric blinked. “I…what?”

“I could help. With the hockey. Your season isn’t over yet, there’s still time for you to get some ice time. If you want, we can work on your problem.”

Eric shook his head, though his fingers were tingling and his head was going a mile a minute. “Jack that’s…gosh that’s so nice, but I don’t even know how you could help. I mean the boys have tried everything and it never seems to matter.”

“I think,” Jack said slowly, “I can get you through it. I’m captain of my team for a reason. You wouldn’t be the first rookie who had a block.”

Eric’s cheeks went hot with a blush, and he looked away. “I’m not a rookie, though.”

“No,” Jack said, and shrugged. “You’re not a rookie, but you haven’t played a single game since getting on the team, and you already know why. It’s just a matter of working through it. You don’t…I mean you don’t have to. But I think I can help.”

Eric was kicking himself for even his small amount of push-back. An NHL captain was offering to help him get over his mental block when it came to checking, and he was thinking about turning it down? If his team knew, they’d murder him. They’d literally chirp him to death.

“I…” Eric took a breath. “Alright. I mean, only if you have the time. I know it’s season and you’re busy so…”

“We can work something out,” Jack said. “Weekends, or days off. Samwell isn’t far. And from what I saw at your practise, you’re a good player. Soft hands, good eyes, your speed is unmatchable from any of the NCAA teams I’ve seen so far this year. I can’t promise huge results but…”

“Jack,” Eric said quietly, and he stopped talking. “Thank you. That sounds great.”

Jack immediately softened, and shrugged. “Yeah. Of course.”

There was a silence between them, and Eric drank the rest of his coffee before he looked up and asked, “So did you win anything last night?”

Jack’s eyes went wide, and then he let out a startled laugh. Eric realised then, he hadn’t heard Jack laugh before, not like this. Free and soft and kind. And he wanted to hear it again and again. Their eyes met, and Jack’s were bright as he shrugged and said, “You know, I forgot to ask.”

*** 

Jack was profoundly aware of Eric’s absence the moment he pulled up to his building and stepped inside. The brunch had gone well enough—Bob and Alicia taking up much of the conversation. They were engaging, and Eric’s attention was on them, so it left Jack free to watch the smaller man as he laughed and told stories about baking, and the jam rivalry between aunts. There was a sadness tinged to his voice, when he talked about his family, but he didn’t shy away from it. Not the way Jack might have, if he’d ever been rejected like that.

It made him realise Eric was a decent person, and that Bob was completely right about him. If anyone deserved the help, it was Eric. Jack had spent most of the night before running Eric’s words through his head. First the defence to the man who attacked Eric, and then the talk after.

Eric had forgiven him so readily, so kindly. Jack knew he wouldn’t have done the same, and it made him feel…heavy.

Their talk that morning was a little bit of Jack wanting to make up for what he’d done, but also because he genuinely thought he could be of some help. He’d been serious when he told Eric that his hockey skills were great. Jack was impressed with what he’d seen on the ice, and if all Eric needed was to get his head through being checked into the boards well, Jack could do that. Easily.

But it made him feel things, funny, gut-twisting things when he thought about spending more time with Eric. It was making his head hurt, and he took a couple of advil, throwing himself on the couch, and he was halfway through a Netflix documentary in an attempt to _not_ think about Eric when his front door opened.

Seeing as his parents were already on their flight, he knew it could be one person, and he didn’t bother looking up, even as Kent stood in his eyeline, then dropped himself directly on top of Jack.

“Hey Zimms, did’ja miss me?”

“No,” Jack said, even as he curled and arm round Kent’s waist. “Why aren’t you laying all over your soon-to-be husband.”

“He kicked me out,” Kent said with a dramatic sigh. “He’s trying to nap.”

“So you’ve come to bother me. When is your flight back to Vegas?”

“Red-eye in the morning. We’re playing the Sharks tomorrow in San Jose.”

“Crush them,” Jack said, and Kent squeezed him a little tighter. Jack let him shuffle over, so Kent was mostly on the sofa, and Jack went back to his show for a bit, until Kent sighed for the sixth time. “What?”

“You like Eric.”

Jack froze, his gaze darting down at Kent who was still looking at the TV. “What?”

“What?” Kent echoed.

Jack elbowed him. “What do you mean I like Eric?”

“I mean, you’re spending time with him. He told me about your offer to help him with hockey, and you…last night was a shit-show but you cared.”

Jack felt his entire back tense up, and his anxiety spike. “I didn’t…it’s not…it isn’t…”

Kent clearly heard the edges of panic, because he propped up on his elbow and quickly caught Jack into slow breaths. When it was clear Jack was okay, Kent shook his head. “Jack, it’s okay to like him. He’s a good guy, and he’s attractive, and he likes you.”

Jack let out a laugh, hollow and forced. “Kenny. He doesn’t like me. I was an asshole to him and just because I offer to help him with hockey doesn’t mean anything.”

Kent sighed and laid his head back down. “You’ll get there, man.”

“Fuck you,” Jack grumbled.

Kent laughed. “I love you too, Zimms. Now cuddle me since my future husband is refusing. I need my damn nap too and maybe it’ll be nice to get through without Tater’s snoring.”

*** 

Eric poked his fork into the cream pie, then glanced up at Lardo and Holster who were sharing a piece. “…and he said he’d help me with you know. My game. Not uh…collapsing on the ice, I guess.”

Holster’s eyebrows flew up. “Are you seriously telling me you’re getting hockey training from Jack fucking Zimmermann?”

“I feel like we should all be more awed by the fact that Bob Zimmermann is Eric’s sugar daddy,” Lardo cut in, pointing her fork at Eric.

Eric flushed. “Is it necessary to use that term?”

“You have a signed contract with financial deets,” Lardo said. “Shits looked it all over and said it’s totally legit. I mean, as legit as these things can get. And you know, since he hasn’t done more than study for the LSATs. But the point is, call a spade a spade, okay You’ve got a sugar daddy. You’re quitting your job tomorrow.”

Holster’s eyes went even wider, looking comical behind his thick lenses. “Woah are you shitting me? Are my aids on the fritz?” He tapped at one of his hearing aids and then grimaced.

“Shut up,” Eric grumbled.

Holster laughed. “I’m chirping, bro. But are you seriously quitting Annie’s?”

Eric shrugged one shoulder up, and took a bite of the pie before he answered. “I guess so, yeah. Bob thinks that uh…maybe I’ll do better if I cut out having to work. I’ll miss it, but at least I’ll have time to do both practise and studying without wanting to throw myself into a cave and just live there until I die.”

Holster snorted. “Bro, it also means more pies at the house. I cannot possibly be more happy about this.”

Eric sighed, but he couldn’t help a small smile because now knowing he had one less obligation in his life took some of the pressure off. When he’d been kicked out and was on his own, the first thing he’d done was panic. He had nowhere to go if everything went south, and it was that sheer panic and fear of being homeless alone that kept Bitty working as hard as he did.

It was by the luck of dibs that he got to stay at the Haus during the summers, too, instead of being kicked out of the dorms with no living prospects. So this was some measure of relief. Even if something happened, Eric wasn’t alone.

It wasn’t a cure for how terrible things had been, but it soothed him, like a warm blanket.

“Well I hope the hockey thing works out,” Lardo said after a few minutes. They’d demolished about two thirds of the pie, and Eric stood up to wrap it and put it away. “Like honestly, we could fucking use you on a line.”

Eric flushed a little, and quickly put the pie in the fridge. “Well thanks, but I think y’all are doing just fine without me.”

Holster rolled his eyes, and clapped Eric on the shoulder as he headed for the stairs. “Why do just fine when we can be the best.” Then he was gone, clomping up the stairs.

Eric could hear his booming voice after, chirping at Rans who was still studying, and Eric laughed to himself before he headed up the stairs and into his room. His phone was sat near his laptop, and Senor Bun beside, that, and he wriggled out of his jeans, crawling beneath the covers in just his boxers and t-shirt.

He still had the Aces hoodie from brunch, and the sweats Kent had loaned him, both folded up on his chair by the desk. Grabbing his phone, he opened up Kent’s contact—tried not to think about how he now had Kent Parson’s actual phone number in his phone—and sent off a text.

**Hey Kent, you want me to get your stuff back to you before you head out?**

_Naw Bits. Keep it. Wear it tomorrow when you watch the game. Maybe it’ll bring us lucks. The Sharks are killing it this year._

Eric sent a few emoticons, then a quick text, **You got it. But my goalie might kill me. His entire room is Sharks. Plus what happens when y’all play the Falconers. My loyalties will be tested.**

_I’m insulted it would even be a question. Whose hoodie are you wearing, Bits?_

**Fair**.

Kent sent back a laughing emoji, then told Eric to sleep well, and he’d see him in a few weeks when he was back for more wedding stuff.

Eric grinned to himself as he tucked his phone against his chest, and was halfway to dozing when it buzzed again. He opened one eye, and saw Jack’s name on the screen.

_I’m free this Thursday. Early morning. Five AM. I’ll pick you up. Make sure we can get into the rink._

**Do you really hate me that much?**

_No?_

Eric laughed, almost able to hear Jack’s confusion. **Jack, five AM is for hockey robots and birds. Which you are neither. Come on, I need my beauty rest.**

_Trust me, you don’t. See you then. Layer up. And make sure you eat your protein._

Eric stared at his phone for far too long. _Trust me, you don’t._ He didn’t want to read too much into it. He couldn’t let himself, but it also didn’t stop Eric from seeing soft baby blues, the quirk of a smile, and the echo of an uninhibited laugh as he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke the next morning, it was to Shitty throwing a parcel on his lap. It was soft and squishy, sent overnighted by Fed Ex, and Eric tore at the wrapping. Out tumbled a blue hoodie with a Falconer’s logo, and a small, yellow post-it attached.

**Where’s your loyalty now? See you Thursday. -J**

If Eric wasn’t screwed before, looking down at that hoodie, he knew he definitely was now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is the last bit I had mostly done, and I'm working on a 911 Zimbits AU so I'm going to finish and post that before I get to the next chapter. I wasn't even going to do this tonight but yay, insomnia. So you get fic :p 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: illness/injury. Scroll down to end notes for full warnings which have spoilers.

Jack was never the sort to mind early mornings, and the drive to Samwell was pleasant enough as he hit the road. He had soft music on in the background, but mostly he took the time to plan out what he wanted to do with Eric when they hit the ice. It was an easy enough problem, he’d seen things like it before, after major injuries. After learning what Eric suffered when he was younger, it all made sense, and Jack at least had something to work with.

And if Jack was good at anything, it was making people better at hockey.

Still, it was hard not to hear Kent’s chirping in the back of his head when he thought about his plans. Kent, of course, convinced there was more to this than just hockey, than just trying to help his dad’s…whatever Eric was. But Kent also knew what buttons to push.

He’d laid all over Jack, and showed him the texts. “He likes me more than you. He’s gonna be out there reppin’ my shit, Jack. Because I’m smarter and prettier and a better player. Bits knows.”

Jack knew he was being ridiculous and petty when he ran to his closet and pulled out one of his unused hoodies. He knew he was being absurd when he dragged Kent to FedEx and paid the ridiculous fee to ensure the hoodie would get there by 8 am the next morning. But he’d done it. And Kent had laughed for an hour when he’d looked over Jack’s shoulder and read the note.

“You’re flirting.”

“That isn’t flirting.” But Jack wasn’t sure anymore. He couldn’t go there though. Not with…everything the way it was. He couldn’t let himself. This needed to be about hockey, and protecting Bob, and that’s what he told himself on the drive in. It didn’t stop him from swinging by a little coffee cart and ordering one of Eric’s ridiculously sweet lattes, but he reminded himself Eric would need the caffeine, and the sugar. And that’s all it was. He told himself that over and over as he pulled his car onto Eric’s street, stopped the car at the kerb, and got out. It was _just coffee_.

Jack stretched his back out, arching a little before slamming his car door shut and making the short walk up to the front of the haus. The porch creaked under his trainers, and he sucked in his breath, still half convinced the place was going to come crashing down on his head. He glanced round, wondering exactly how much it would cost to fix the place up. His dad was doing a lot already for Eric, but this wasn’t just for Eric. This was a matter of safety. For hockey players. Hockey players who might end up, one day, in the NHL.

He bit his lip, then decided to table that for another day. Approaching the door, he curled his fingers into a fist, knocking until Eric appeared between the crack in the door. He was dressed, like Jack had insisted, wearing the Aces hoodie which made Jack scowl a little.

“I sent you one,” he said as Eric stepped outside.

Eric’s brows furrowed, his mouth turned down into a frown. “You did.”

“But you’re wearing Kent’s.”

Crossing his arms, Eric lifted a brow at him. “Yes well, he isn’t dragging my behind out of bed at five in the morning, is he?”

Jack’s eyes widened. “This is a perfectly reasonable hour. Maybe that’s why you never got over your block.”

“I’m ignoring you,” Eric said as he stomped toward Jack’s car, “because it’s _five_ in the _morning_.” Jack watched as Eric slid into the car, slamming the door a little harder than was necessary.

Jack wasn’t sure if Eric was actually upset or not, but he thought he had a little something to make it better. He got behind the wheel, then reached over and lifted the pumpkin spiced latte he’d purchased on the way. Offering it over, he tried a half-smile. “Uh. I remember you uh. Like these?”

Eric’s face softened, not quite into a smile, but enough that Jack felt a little better. Taking the coffee, Eric’s gaze moved to the window, and neither of them said anything until they reached Faber. When they got out, Eric grabbed his bag, then reached into his pocket and threw keys at Jack.

“Here. I stole these off Lardo. She said no one will be by until seven.”

“I think that should be enough time,” Jack said, humming to himself.

Eric’s eyes went wide again. “Good lord, please don’t tell me you plan to have me on the ice for two hours!”

“Does that seem…unreasonable to you?” Jack asked. His confusion was genuine. He spent sometimes three or four hours on the ice without even thinking about it. He’d been doing that since juniors, and it only seemed logical the college players would do the same.

Maybe it was just an Eric thing, and maybe that’s why he wasn’t doing as well as he should have been.

Jack knew better than to say that, and instead said, “We can stop when we’ve made progress,” and ignored Eric’s groan.

The inside of Faber was cold and dark, but Eric found the lights quickly, and Jack felt the familiar rush at seeing untouched ice. There was nothing like his skates hitting the smooth stretch, it was something he looked forward to in every game. He loved the slick feel of it, almost as much as he loved the feel of the ice at the end of a gruelling game, when it was chipped to hell, and they were using their thighs more than ever to get them across the rink.

He sat on the bench as he reached for his skates, then looked at Eric. “Pads.”

Eric blinked. “What?”

“Put on pads. Not…you don’t have to gear up completely but I’m going to check you. I’m a lot bigger than you, I’d prefer if you had pads on.”

Eric’s face paled, and Jack noticed an immediate tremble in his fingers. “Um.”

Taking a breath, Jack tried to channel his captain voice. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to slam you into the boards, okay? I just want…you just need to get used to the feel of contact. You won’t get hurt,” he repeated.

After a minute, Eric took a breath, then nodded and with socked feet, stumbled down the corridor to the locker room, returning five minutes later with his helmet, and a few of his upper body pads on.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough, and Jack took to the ice, skating a couple of laps until Eric was laced up and heading out. When Jack came at him, Eric went down. It was almost surreal, almost like in slow motion. Jack hadn’t even made eye-contact with him, and suddenly Eric was on his side, knees to his chest, arms up like he was about to take a hit to the head.

Jack froze, and put his arms up. “Hey I wasn’t…I just wanted to…to talk.” His heart was thudding, nerves singing through his body. He realised his anxiety had flared because Eric was _scared_ of him, and that was the last thing Jack wanted. “Please.”

Eric got up, still trembling, and he scrubbed a hand down his face, looking frustrated. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry. I swear I can’t help it. If I think someone’s comin’ at me I just…”

“It’s okay,” Jack said quietly. “Can I…” He gestured to Eric, who nodded, and still looked a little wary, but stayed on two feet this time. The pair of them skated to the boards, and Jack leant against them, giving Eric the upper hand. “I think the best way,” he said, thinking it through as quickly as he could, “is to believe that everyone is coming at you to check you.”

Eric frowned. “…what?”

“I mean,” Jack said, “if you can get over your instinct to drop to the ground, the fear of being touched, then you can anticipate what a player might do.” He sighed. “I’m not explaining this right.”

Eric held up a hand. “No I think I…it’s…” He shook his head. “You mean it would be harder for me to work through my fear of surprise, so if I tell myself _everyone_ is going to check me, and I can work through my fear of the physical part of it, I’ll be able to play. Without falling over.”

Jack nodded. “Later, once you feel like you can manage that, you can start working on recognising when someone’s about to get physical and avoid it. But right now you need to learn how to push off and skate through. Okay?”

Eric hesitated, but nodded. “Okay but…how?”

*** 

It took nearly an hour for Eric to stay up on two skates when Jack pushed him into the boards. Eric started crying at one point, which left Jack confused and nervous because he’d seen his guys cry over things like deaths and births of children, and winning the cup, but never being hit. Eric didn’t seem to want comfort either, so Jack stayed a few paces away, and waited for him to compose himself.

Then he’d get up, and nod at Jack, his jaw tense, and they’d try again. 

By the end of the two hours, Eric had managed to take a check, though he hadn’t been able to skate through it yet. But…it was progress.

“Buy me another coffee,” Eric said, grunting a little as he hauled his bag over his shoulder. “I’m sore and hungry.”

Jack lifted a brow, but shrugged. “Okay. Annie’s?” It was the only place at Samwell he could remember.

Eric hesitated, then sighed. “I’m quitting today but…might be nice to have another meal there before I do. And there’s probably pie left.”

Jack hummed at that, but said nothing as they got into the car and headed out. Annie’s wasn’t far, and Jack parked a few blocks away. Eric huffed, and groaned about being sore, but soon enough they were inside, with their drinks and pastries, and two slices of apple pie Eric insisted on.

“This is a lot of sugar,” Jack said, frowning at their spread.

Eric stared at him, then laughed. “Yeah well, five am checking practises deserve a little sugar, Mr Zimmermann. And I made that pie with my own two hands, so I know it’s amazing. Eat it. And enjoy it.”

Jack felt a rush, the way Eric was staring at him, almost challenging him. He slid the plate over, dug his fork in, then tried not to make a noise because it was, in fact, that good. “I…agree. It is amazing.”

Eric rolled his eyes. “Well I suppose comin’ from the certified NHL Hockey Robot, that’s high praise.” When Jack’s cheeks pinked, Eric kicked him under the table. “I’m chirping you, Jack. You know I don’t think you’re a robot, and I’d like to give a thorough talkin’ to, to anyone whose said it and meant it.”

Jack shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me.”

They fell into silence as they had their coffee, and ate the pie, and Eric even managed to make a dent in the croissants that Jack had set in the middle of the table.

“You’ll eat something with protein today, won’t you?” Jack asked, swiping his mouth with a thin paper napkin which shredded on his five o’clock shadow.

Eric sighed. “What is it with you? But yes, Jack. I’ll eat something with protein. Betsy’s doin’ alright right now so it should be fine.”

“Betsy?” Jack asked, feeling a weird, hot flare in his gut. He was sure Eric was gay but…

“She’s my oven,” Eric said, and Jack felt his shoulders sag. “She’s been on the fritz lately and not even Dex can get her all the way right. Just hoping she holds on for another year.”

“That house is a disaster,” Jack said, and when Eric looked offended, he raised his hand. “I just mean…it seems…like it should be condemned?” He realised then he wasn’t making it better, but after a second, Eric just laughed.

“Good lord, yes. It truly should be. There are things well…I don’t even like to think about. But I don’t think anyone much cares. It’s a frat house.”

Jack, hadn’t ever been to college, so he didn’t quite get what that meant, but he nodded along anyway. “Well euh…if you need anything…I mean I know you have a…” He coughed. “A thing with my dad.” Eric’s face flushed bright red, but Jack carried on. “But you…I mean I’m here. And he’s in Montreal so if you need anything…” He’d never fumbled so much in his life, but he felt strangely nervous around Eric and it was getting to be a bit much.

Eric, however, softened his face into an easy smile. “Thanks, Jack. Honestly though, what you’re doin’ is great. If I can get even a minute of ice time this season I’ll call it a win.” He took the last sip of his coffee and sighed. “We should go. I have class in two hours and I think I’d like to wash off the stench of abject fear before I have to sit through the History of Wars.”

Jack perked up as Eric rose. “I like history. I read a lot on roadies.”

Eric turned to him, his eyes bright, smile wide. “The more I learn about you, the more you surprise me Jack, and I mean that in a good way. I’d offer to talk history with you, but I swear it goes in one ear and out the other.” He sighed as he climbed in the car.

“Well if you ever need help with that,” Jack said.

Eric laughed. “You’ll be the first one I text. Promise.”

When they reached the haus and Eric climbed out of the car, Jack was genuinely disappointed to see him go.

*** 

**Eric, do you think you can offer Alexei and Kent assistance this afternoon with the wedding cake. They have a tasting but I’d trust you before them.**

Eric laughed at his phone before replying. _Yeah that’s fine. I have an early class but I can be there at two if I take the train._

**I’ll send a ticket. Jack might be there. Just letting you know.**

_I can handle Mr Grumpy Goals, Bob. Don’t worry about me._

Bob sent a few chicken and laughing emojis, then Eric’s email buzzed with the e-ticket for the train. With a sigh, he slid his phone away and grabbed for his mug, only to find it occupied by Shitty who was gulping the coffee like his life depended on it.

“Sorry brah, I need the fuel. It’s like…a matter of life and death.”

Eric scowled. “It was just the way I liked it.” He snatched his cup back, reaching for the pot, and he poured the rest in. There was just enough creamer and sugar left to get it right, and he sighed. “Have one of the boys restock. I have to head down to Providence this afternoon to help Kent and Tater with wedding cake.”

“Holy shit,” Shitty said, his eyebrows flying up. “Do you realise you’re gonna be tasting wedding cake for NHL stars. Like…millionaires, Bits.”

Eric rolled his eyes, and did a spinning side-step when Shitty made a grab for his coffee. “Shitty, your family are full of millionaires. I mean, they play hockey, but so do we. They just get paid more for it.”

“And they’re fucking good,” Shitty countered. “Like really fucking good. And you’re gonna eat their wedding cake.”

Eric laughed. “Okay. Well maybe I’ll save you a piece since I’m going to their wedding, too.”

“Their wedding,” Shitty said from behind a sigh, and Eric giggled. They fell into a comfortable silence, and Eric only looked up when Shitty elbowed him. “Are you…how are you? After you know. That night?”

Eric had spilt everything to the haus after coming home from Providence still shook up, and although it took a while to calm the boys down, eventually they stopped plotting murder and decided to let Bad Bob handle it and comfort Eric instead. He was still feeling a little edgy, but mostly he was alright, and told Shitty as much.

“I’m not nervous about heading to Providence, if that’s what you’re asking,” Eric said.

Shitty shook his head. “Nah. I know you’re good. Just had to check in, you know? How did the whole playing fuckin’ hockey with Jack fucking Zimmermann go?”

Eric laughed, and tugged on the sleeve of the Falconers hoodie he wore only after Jack was gone. “It was fine. Good. I mean…I think he might be on to something. I wanna try some of the stuff we worked on during our next practise and if I can stay up, maybe I can get a few minutes of ice time in the next game.”

Shitty grinned. “Fuck yeah, brah. Fuck yeah.”

Eric grinned, and it was Shitty’s enthusiasm and the idea that he might actually get to play before he graduated, that saw him through his morning.

*** 

By the time Eric made it to the train station, most of his phone battery was dead. He was able to scan his ticket, then send a text off to Jack. **I’m not sure who’s picking me up, but my phone is seconds away from dying so just letting you know I’ll be in around two. Look for me, I don’t have a charger.**

The text sent, then the screen went black and Eric sighed. No music, no games, no entertainment for the ride. It was just himself, the passing scenery, and the increasingly insistent thoughts in his head that Jack was cute, and that Bitty liked him, and it was profoundly a terrible idea to feel that way at all.

He was essentially a paid date. Jack knew it, he knew it, and getting involved would be the worst idea. Not that Jack, multi-millionaire and famous hockey player would have proper interest in Eric, but it didn’t stop the quiet fantasies from playing out in his head. Like them locking eyes, and Jack saying, “I’ve never felt this way before,” and then taking him by the face and just kissing him.

Eric shivered, and tried to guide his thoughts elsewhere. Only his brain went to the wedding, and Jack asking him to dance. In front of everyone. He could see Kent’s smiling face, and Alexei saying, “I’m tell you so, little Bitty,” and they would all be happy for them instead of asking Jack what the fuck he was thinking trying to date some poor, family-less college kid.

That last thought was enough to shake Eric out of his fantasy. It was more than just the fact that he was young, and didn’t make much money, and had no idea what he wanted to do with his life.

It was also that Eric was alone. He had the boys and the haus, but that was going to be over soon. Shitty, Ransom, and Holster were going to graduate. Then Eric would. And then…

Well he had no idea. He’d be off in the world, on his own. And he had no doubt the boys would keep in touch, and he’d figure out something to do with his degree but…it wouldn’t be the same. And Eric would be alone. And terrified. 

Wrapping his arms round his middle, Eric tried to push those thoughts away. He still had a year at Samwell left, and he was certain he’d figure it out by then. Maybe he’d get a date. Maybe he’d even get a boyfriend and have some experience and fall in love.

He wasn’t stupid enough to think it would be Jack, but it might be someone just as awkwardly charming and sweet, and that would have to be okay. And maybe, even after it was all over, they’d still want to talk to him. Maybe he’d still get texts from Bob, and chirps from Jack, and tweets from Kent and Alexei.

Maybe it would be alright.

*** 

Jack stared at his phone, then up at the platform. His body was humming with nerves. Not just for Eric to be there, but because he’d just seen Alexei and Kent off to the airport and everything had changed. Not an hour before, Alexei had gotten word from Russia that his mother had suffered a stroke and he was scratching himself from the roster until further notice.

Kent couldn’t go. He was captain, and they were in the top position and the current favourites for the playoffs. But he was seeing Alexei off, and they were postponing the wedding until after the season had ended.

Jack was stuck waiting for Eric now, and he’d…well he wasn’t sure. Eric had hopped on a train to help Kent, and that was off, and Jack would feel like an asshole if he turned Eric away, sending him straight back. Maybe he could offer lunch? At the very least it would take his mind off his worry for Alexei, and what was going to happen to his mother. He’d met Mama Mashkov enough times to know why Alexei loved her so damn much, and Jack had been looking forward to seeing her for the wedding. He didn’t want to think of worst case, not for Alexei, and not for himself or Kent.

Jack startled when the train pulled up, and he was on his feet, alternately squeezing and releasing his hands to quell some of his nerves. When the doors opened, it took a minute, but eventually he saw Eric coming out, his blonde hair a bit messier than usual, but his face softened into a smile when he saw Jack.

“Hey!” he said as he approached. “You alone?”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes euh…plans…changed.”

Eric’s face fell. “Is everything okay?”

Jack shook his head. “Alexei’s mom had a stroke. Kent’s taking him to catch his flight and the wedding’s off until after the season. Um…if you want to you know…head back, I can change your ticket or…”

“Is Kent comin’ back to your place?” Eric asked, his voice almost sharp.

Jack shrugged. “I think so. He has to fly back to Vegas tomorrow for a game but…”

“Then let’s go. Actually, we need to stop by a supermarket first, but I’m bakin’ that boy a pie, so I hope you know what he likes best.”

*** 

Jack was both impressed and intimidated by the efficiency with which Eric Bittle shopped. He didn’t need a list, but managed to get through each and every aisle, throwing what he needed into the trolley, then paused by the section where they kept all the baking supplies.

“I hesitate to ask…”

Jack laughed. “Nothing. I have almost nothing.” When Eric paled, Jack quickly shook his head. “Get everything. If you’re going to be popping by mine to make pies on random Wednesdays, I should be stocked.”

Eric’s face softened, and then he said, “Alright. I mean I don’t usually pick up my things here, but they’ll do for now.” Then he loaded up pie dishes, rolling pins, strange looking metal contraptions that looked almost dangerous. He picked up spoons, whisks, and bowls, and when they got to the checkout, he attempted to protest when Jack pulled out his card, but instead Jack lightly hip-checked him out of the way and swiped it.

“Better every day,” Jack said.

It took Eric a second, but he rolled his eyes. “Good lord, that wasn’t…uhg.” Then when Jack laughed, he did too, and it made Jack feel lighter than he had all evening.

Instead of going out to lunch, Eric insisted they pick something up since the pie crust apparently needed cold butter, and they couldn’t leave it sat in the car for too long. Jack went to the Thai place nearest to his, since they were both fast and good, and when they got inside, Eric put things away while Jack dished out the food.

He was halfway through his own plate when his phone buzzed, and he saw a text from Kent. “Kenny’s on his way,” he told Eric. “He’ll be here in about an hour.”

“Enough time for me to get some of this done, if you help,” Eric said, giving Jack a pointed look.

Jack hesitated. “I uh…I’m not sure you want me to help with something like this. I can cook an egg but a pie…?”

Eric swatted his arm. “Come on, it’s easy. You can start by blanching the peaches. Get a pot of water boiling, and I’ll get the dough going.”

Jack wasn’t great at baking, but he’d always been fairly decent at following directions, and soon enough he was blanching peaches, then peeling and cutting, and feeding himself and Eric bites of their food between that.

It was the strangest, most domestic thing Jack had ever done. It left something burning just behind his ribs, something he wanted to ignite into a roaring flame, even if he knew it was a terrible idea.

Luckily Eric was distracting enough from it, though the burning continued, even when Eric got him talking about his career. “…and you know a lot from Wikipedia, I’m sure,” he said, when he got to his disastrous parting with Juniors.

Eric shrugged. “I read some, when your dad first approached me. I wanted to know what I was getting into.” He began to roll out dough, and didn’t look up at Jack, though his cheeks were a bit pink.

Jack stirred the peaches, which were boiling in the filling sauce Eric had cobbled together, and he reached over, stuffing a bite of noodles into his mouth. “Well,” he said, trying to chew and talk at the same time, “it’s mostly true. A lot of sites think I was into drugs but it was just…it was a poorly managed prescription for anxiety medication. I still take it,” he said, then looked at Eric, but the shorter man didn’t seem fazed. “At the time I had too much freedom, and no idea how to take care of myself. Kenny was struggling and it was…a bad situation. I couldn’t stop feeling like…like I had to be better than everyone and everything, and it just…came crashing down.”

“Jack,” Eric said, and turned to him. His arms twitched, like he wanted to give Jack a hug—and that was something Jack wouldn’t have turned down—but he stopped himself. “I’m sorry. I sort of…know what that’s like. My parents…” He stopped then, his voice going tight. “My dad wanted me to be…something I wasn’t. Less gay. Or not gay, actually. And if I had to be, then not obvious. But…I am what I am.”

“That’s…”

“It is what it is,” Eric interrupted sharply. “It’s okay. It’s lonely, knowing you don’t have a family out there but…” He stopped and shrugged. “Yours is pretty great, you know. I mean I know it’s tough, has to be tough, with Bob as your dad but he really loves you, Jack.”

Jack felt guilt welling in his gut, because he knew that. He fought with his parents, felt smothered by their love sometimes, but when he compared his experience to what Eric had to go through, it suddenly seemed so petty. “I know he does,” Jack said after a minute. “And I’m trying to…be better.”

“Be better,” Eric said, and laughed. “That’s like your motto?”

Jack shrugged. “Maybe. It’s a good one.”

“Is it? Better than what, exactly? Because from where I’m standing, you’re already pretty darn great, Mr Zimmermann.”

Jack had no time to say anything back. Eric was already assembling the pie, and putting it in the oven, and the door was opening to reveal Kent. His face was puffy and swollen, eyes red, and his cheeks were stained with tear tracks.

“Oh honey,” Eric said, and took Kent into a hug. 

Kent let out a small sob as Eric led him to the sofa, and Jack followed with food in his hands, setting it on the table before going to Kent’s other side. He let out a small sigh as Kent leant into him, and he put his arm round him.

“No updates,” Kent said after a moment. “She’s…stable, I guess? Lyosha’s gonna call me when he gets there. I just…fuck. This cannot happen. She can’t…”

“It’s gonna be alright,” Eric said, rubbing his hand up and down Kent’s back. Every time his fingers bumped Jack’s, he felt a hot rush up his arm, but he put his focus on Kent who was scrubbing his face with the heels of his hands.

“I’m…fuck. I mean she’s strong as hell so if anyone can make it through this, it’s her. I just hate leaving Alexei there on his own. I’m…I feel like the worst fucking husband.”

“You’re not,” Jack said fiercely. “Kenny, you’re amazing, and he knows that you don’t have a choice, and he’s going to be okay. He’s strong too, gets that from her, and it’s going to be fine. And meanwhile, we’re here for you.”

Eric was staring at him, something shining in his eyes, but when he caught Jack looking, his face closed off and he glanced away. He nodded instead, then pulled Kent into a cuddle between them, laughing when Kent nestled into their embrace. “Jack’s right. We’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ve got a pie baking, and we’ve got some only slightly cold Thai, and Netflix all ready to go. Okay? And Mama Mashkov’s gonna be up and about soon, and she’ll be walkin’ Alexei down that aisle come June and it’ll be just as beautiful as if we’d’a done it during the holidays.”

Kent sighed, leaning his head back against Jack’s shoulder, and closed his eyes. “Thanks,” he whispered.

Jack nodded, pressing a kiss to Kent’s temple. “Of course. And I’ll call papa and mama soon. They can come see you in Vegas, keep you company for a while. Long as you need them.”

“What about you two?” Kent asked.

Eric laughed, and startled Jack when he reached over and gave Jack’s hand a pat. “Well until then, we got each other, right Jack?”

Jack swallowed against a lump in his throat, then nodded. “Right, Eric.” And it really, really felt that way.

Completely right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Tater's mum has a stroke- though she doesn't die, it deals with worry and fear.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Hockey injury. Canon game against Princeton with Bitty's concussion.
> 
> Secondary warning: Jack is not very nice at the start of this chapter. I HC that Jack has anger-management issues--not in the sense that he gets out of control with his anger, but that his anxiety/insecurity manifests in anger and he lashes out (like he did with the, "it was a lucky shot"). Jack tends to hit where it hurts when he's not getting his way. In this fic he's in therapy and the issue gets addressed, but be warned that he still has some growing to do when it comes to being in relationships with people.
> 
> Don't worry too much though, the chapter isn't all angst.

Eric’s head throbbed, and he blindly reached for the bottle of ibuprofen on his desk. It wasn’t a great idea to swallow down a couple of pills on an empty stomach, but he was desperate. He’d been studying for the last four hours, and he had another several to go. He had his maths final—and he was taking it, and attempting his best in spite of knowing he was still going to fail the class. They also had a game against Princeton the next night—and the biggest part of Eric’s stress was he’d be playing.

It started the week before. It was by accident, Eric assumed. He’d been doing better in practise, but nothing spectacular, until Coach Murray walked in on Eric and Jack’s checking practise. Eric hadn’t seen him, he’d been too busy actually pushing Jack off him when he was slammed into the boards. He’d stopped falling, stopped trembling whenever someone got close to him. He wasn’t confident he’d hold his own against someone he didn’t know, but he was doing better.

And Murray had seen that.

Apparently after conversing with Hall that afternoon, they announced it during practise.

It had been a little terrifying, really. “Birkholtz!” Hall shouted, and Eric watched as Holster skated over, nodded to what Hall was saying, then came at Eric.

Instead of falling to the ground, Eric spun round, skated off, and attempted to get away from Holster. He was faster, but Holster had determination and size, and managed to check Eric into the boards. Lightly, of course, and Eric laughed, shoving him off, but he realised after a moment why the rest of the team was staring.

“Oh uh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess all that practise I’ve been getting with Jack really paid off?”

He had been chirped for private lessons with an NHL captain, but the results spoke for themselves. “You won’t be starting. Fourth line, maybe,” Hall said, “but you’re getting ice time.”

Eric had been so ecstatic he’d sent a message to Bob, Kent, Tater, and Jack. Everyone responded, and Eric’s buzz lasted until he realised it was finals week. And it wasn’t just the tests. He had studied as much as he was going to be able to study, and whatever happened, happened. But it meant the holidays were approaching, and it meant another long, lonely stretch of time in the Haus while everyone went home to see their families.

The Falconers had a short string of home games before their winter break, and Eric knew he’d see little to none of Jack since he’d be home in Montreal for most of his time off, and Kent was flying off to Russia to be with Alexei for as long as they could manage it.

And it was fine. Eric didn’t expect less.

He was feeling antsy that he’d be getting into his first semester as a privately paying student, but Bob’s money was coming in at regular intervals—more money than Eric had seen in his bank account possibly ever, and he knew he wouldn’t have to struggle for books or food, or even clothes if he felt the need.

Not that he had time for any of that. He’d gotten barely two pies a week with everyone cramming, and most of those pies had been to calm Ransom who’d gone into his Finals Meltdown which consisted of a lot of crying, panic attacks, quiet whimpering, then stuffing his face with maple-crusted apple to soothe his suffering Canadian heart.

Eric was halfway into his next paragraph when his phone buzzed. **Do you have a minute to skype?** It was Bob, and the request startled him, but Eric wasn’t about to turn it down.

_Of course. Give me a second to log in._

He switched over to the skype tab, then logged in, and a minute after his profile lit up online, the call request came in. Eric accepted it, and couldn’t help a grin at Bob’s smiling face.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Eric shook his head. “Cramming for my maths final, and trust me, the distraction is welcome.”

“I know you’ll do great,” Bob said. “I honestly just wanted to check in. You’ve been quiet, and I figured it was school but with the game coming up tomorrow…”

“I’m okay,” Eric said swiftly. He didn’t want to put Bob off, or burden him with his morose mood over the empty holidays. “Really, just studying.”

“Okay. Because I checked your account when I made this week’s deposit and I noticed you haven’t spent much more than your rent. Eric…I’m certainly not going to police your spending, but you do know it’s okay to actually spend it, right?”

Eric laughed, his cheeks heating up. “I swear, I’ll treat myself soon as these exams are over. I haven’t even had time to bake.”

“Well maybe some holiday pies are in order after, eh?”

Eric snorted. “Won’t be anyone here to eat ‘em but me, but maybe I’ll send y’all a few to Montreal.”

Bob stared. “You’re…merde, of course you’re not…” He stopped. “Eric, do you have a passport?”

Eric blinked. “Um. Yeah I do. Why…?” It occurred to him the second after he’d asked the question, why Bob was asking that.

“Would you like to fly with Jack to Montreal? We’re celebrating a few days of Chanukah together since it’s around Jack’s time off this year and it would be wonderful if you would join us. I can even put on a little Santa hat if you like.”

Eric covered his laugh with the back of his hand. “That’s really nice, Bob, but I’m not…you know. I’m not Jewish and it seems rude to invite myself to your house.”

“You didn’t invite yourself anywhere, and you don’t have to be Jewish to have a holiday with family.”

Eric felt his throat tighten, and a small, irrational part of his brain screamed, _you’re not family! You’re a stranger!_ But he wouldn’t give it a voice aloud. “Um.”

“Please. It would be so nice to see you. Listen, I’ll book your ticket with Jack’s. You two have been getting along, okay?”

“Yeah, yes,” Eric said, flustered. “Of course. He’s been helping me with my hockey and I even got him to try a couple of pumpkin spice lattes.”

Bob’s eyes lit up. “Did you?”

“Oh no,” Eric said. “You’re going to chirp him for life, aren’t you?”

Bob grinned. “Maybe not for life but…yes.”

Eric groaned. “Alright well…if you’re giving me no choice in this matter…”

“Eric,” Bob said softly, “of course you have a choice.”

Eric grinned. “Really. It’s sweet of you to offer and maybe it’ll be nice to have a few days celebratin’. Should I make anything?”

“We have it covered,” Bob said, and Eric pretended he wasn’t almost overwhelmed with how touched he was at the happy expression on Bob’s face. But it had been so long since anyone had wanted Eric around, and well…he was going to let himself enjoy it.

“Just text me the details then. I really oughta get going on this paper though.”

“Alright. Have a good night, Eric.”

They signed off, and Eric went right back to typing, almost losing himself in it with how good he felt. Everything seemed right, and better, and he was thrilled.

Then his phone went off.

**Eric, I have an afternoon game tomorrow, and a Nike benefit directly after. I’d like for you to accompany me to that.**

Eric stared down at the text from Jack. It was…oddly demanding, which was unlike Jack. And Jack knew. He knew about Eric’s final, and his game with Princeton. He knew Eric was playing. Maybe he forgot, or wasn’t thinking, so Eric quickly sent a text back, as gently as he could.

_Jack, I’d love to, but I have my maths final, and we’re playing Princeton._

**Aren’t you failing maths anyway?**

Eric felt his heart thud, and something like panic welling in his gut. _I still need to take the test, and even if I didn’t, I have the game. I need to be there for practise and warm-ups. I’m really sorry, Jack, but I’m playing._

**I don’t see why you can’t make this. You’ll be on the ice less than five minutes during the entire game.**

Eric stared at his screen in shock. Jack had been unkind to him before, but this was a new level. _Jack…I thought…we worked so hard, and I really want this. I’m sorry I can’t be at your beck and call for every event, but this is important to me._

**So what, exactly, is my father paying you for?**

Anxiety slammed into Eric, full force, almost knocking him over. His breathing was laboured, and it took him several moments to regain his composure before he could reply. His fingers trembled and the first two tries were riddled with typos, but eventually he got out the only thing he could think of. _I’ll see what I can do. I have to go, I’m studying, but I’ll let you know._

When that was sent, he turned his phone off, shut his laptop, and curled up with Senor Bun in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. But it was futile. He thought he had something with Jack. Friendship at the very least. He thought Jack had warmed to him, actually cared about him. Everything he’d feared about taking up this contract with Bob flared to life. He was a glorified escort, and all for what?

His eyes and throat burned, and he squeezed his bunny, and wished for sleep.

*** 

Jack startled in his seat when Kent slammed Jack’s phone onto the table. There was a cracking sound, and Jack opened his mouth to yell at him when Kent beat him to it. “What the actual fuck was that?”

Jack stared at him, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“What the fuck do you mean, what? Did you seriously say that to Bits? He’s not your whore, Jack. Your dad didn’t buy him for you.”

Jack winced, and guilt rushed through him, overwhelming his anger because Kent was right. Jack’s head had been buzzing with stress and anxiety all night—ever since he learnt that Nike was throwing a benefit, and his ex, Camilla, would be attending with her new wife George—Jack’s GM. Jack and Camilla had parted on amicable terms, but her last words to Jack haunted him.

“Until you figure yourself out, you’re never going to be happy.”

Jack had argued with her, told her he didn’t need anything to make him happy besides Hockey. She told him no one would love him that way, and it had been too much of a challenge. He’d avoided her, even after she married George. He didn’t want her to be right. 

And if he showed up with Eric, it would look different. Maybe it would be a lie, but Jack liked him enough, and Eric’s charm and energy were enough to eclipse any of Jack’s awkward social skills. It was stupid, really. But Jack was used to getting what he wanted.

Eric’s rejection had set him off, and now he was sat at the table with Kent feeling like a monster. “Fuck,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Kent said, his voice dripping with venom. “I haven’t heard you be this fucking awful since we were seventeen.” It was a reminder, Jack realised, of the person he’d been, when he’d let his insecurities control him. When he lashed out at everyone who made him feel not good enough.

“I’ll…” He swallowed. “I need to call Cindy.”

Kent shoved his phone back at him, and stood up. “I’m going to go double check my flight. Jack, fix it. This cannot fuck our game tomorrow. I have a long goddamn flight to Russia and I’m not leaving before you fucking make it better.”

Jack didn’t look up at Kent. Instead he scrolled through his contacts, and when he heard the door shut, he hit Cindy’s name and waited.

It rang several times, and just when he thought she wouldn’t pick up, her voice sounded on the other end. “Jack. How are you?”

“Not good,” Jack said quickly. “I messed up.”

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Are you safe?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a danger to yourself or anyone else?”

“No.” He paused, then double checked with himself. “No,” he repeated again. “I was…I lashed out at someone when he wouldn’t give me what I wanted. I’m…I have a benefit tomorrow, I have to see my ex and I…was mean.”

“Okay,” she said softly.

“I asked him to attend with me, but he has a final to take, and a game tomorrow night. He’s been working hard to play.”

“Is this Eric?” Cindy asked.

Jack sighed. “Yeah. I forgot about the game, and I asked him to come and he said no. And I told him…” Jack stopped, because he hadn’t told Cindy about his dad’s contract. It was not his place, and she didn’t know Eric was anything more than a family friend getting help from Jack with hockey. “I made him feel like he was obligated to join me simply because he was my friend.”

“How did he respond?”

Jack sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He said…he said he’d see what he can do. But I don’t think he means it. He shouldn’t mean it.”

“Have you apologised?”

“No,” Jack admitted. “Not yet. It didn’t feel like something I should do over text.” That wasn’t entirely true. Mostly he was just feeling like a coward, because he didn’t want to face the idea that maybe he’d fucked it up with Eric for good. Maybe Eric would only see him out of obligation to Bob from now on. And Jack wasn’t sure he could take that.

“I think,” Cindy said slowly, “if you acknowledge your mistake, even over text, it would be good for you both. But I’ll leave that to you.”

Jack breathed in and out a few times. “I’ll…think about it. I might drive up there after the benefit instead. Then I can…see his game.”

“Alright,” Cindy said.

They talked a few more minutes. Jack worked through why he felt like lashing out, and she offered a few helpful phrases he could use when he finally addressed Eric. When it was over, his hands weren’t shaking, and Kent had come back into the room.

“I’m going to Samwell tomorrow, for Eric’s game. I’ll apologise then.” Jack thumbed his phone, but still couldn’t bring himself to text.

“Well your dad told me he invited Bits for Chanukah so you’d better get it right before the two of you have to spend a really long, awkward as fuck weekend together.”

Jack swore under his breath. “He didn’t tell me that.”

“Probably wanted to surprise you,” Kent said. “He thought you liked Bits.”

“I do,” Jack said. He pushed up from his seat and moved into the living room with Kent close at his heels. “I do and I fucked up.” He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes as he sat, and sighed when he felt Kent next to him. Kent’s arm came round his waist and tugged him close.

“Everyone fucks up. Just…don’t be a dick.”

“I know,” Jack said. He leant against Kent and looked down at his hands. “I don’t know why I’m like this.”

Kent laughed. “Yes you do. You’re in therapy for it, Jack. And if anyone understands fucked behaviour because of mental illness, it’s me. So I’m gonna call you on your shit, but I’ll help you fix it, too. I’ll go with you tomorrow, okay? My flight isn’t until Sunday.”

Jack started to shake his head, but company actually sounded nice. “Alright,” he conceded. “We can head out right after the benefit.”

Kent dragged Jack against the cushions until they were reclined backward, and their feet propped up on the low table. He put his head on Jack’s shoulder. “You have to be my stand-in until Aloysha comes home.”

“I refuse to stand in for him,” Jack said dryly, and Kent laughed. “C’est un ostie d’innocent.”

Kent elbowed him. “Stop chirping my fiancé. He’s not here to defend himself. Plus, you know you love him.”

Jack sighed. “I like him a lot better than you.”

“I hate you,” Kent said. He wriggled his phone out of his pocket and quickly sent a text. When he saw Jack staring, he sighed. “To Bits. Told him not to read much into what you said, that you were having a really bad day and it wasn’t personal. You’d make it up to him later.”

Jack felt his mood hedge at that, but it was true. He would, and really he owed Kent for stepping up. “Thanks,” he said after a minute.

Kent shook his head a little, but leant on Jack harder. “S’what I’m here for, eh?”

“Ouias,” Jack said, and let himself relax.

*** 

Jack was all nerves as he and Kent escaped the benefit and got into the car. Seeing Camilla was easier than he thought, and her first words to him had been more than unexpected.

“You look good, Jack. What changed?”

He stared at her, then shrugged. “Learning to be happy,” he said, and she laughed and squeezed his arm.

“It’s about time, yeah?”

He’d managed to escape her after that, and the benefit went on without too much, but Jack was still reeling from how he’d dealt with Eric. He’d attempted a good luck text, and got a terse reply, so he knew he wasn’t forgiven just yet—and knew he’d deserve it if Eric refused to forgive him at all.

They were running late, though. The benefit dragged on, and with the forty minute drive to Samwell, Jack knew the game would be well underway. But he’d secured tickets already, and pushed the speed limit as much as he dared.

Kent was almost half-asleep next to him, having been up a lot of the night before chatting with Alexei, and then winning the game. Jack couldn’t even really bring himself to be annoyed with the Aces—everyone had been off their game since Alexei had gone, and Kent was channelling all of his stress into his plays. 

They arrived at Faber, and found parking round the back. Jack shook Kent awake, and the pair of them slipped out, and headed for the box office. Jack and Kent were dressed down now, in jeans and sweaters, and Jack pulled his hat over his brows as low as he could stand it before murmuring his name to the attendant.

Her eyes went wide. “Oh man,” she whispered, but dug through their small box and found the tickets. “Could um…”

“After,” Jack said quickly. “I’ll come by after, okay?”

She pinked in the cheeks, and nodded as Jack pulled the two tickets out, then headed inside.

They had decent seats, right behind the Samwell bench, and Jack slipped up to the glass, knocking softly right behind Eric. It took a few tries, but eventually Eric’s head whipped round and his eyes went wide to see Jack there.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jack mouthed.

Eric looked resigned, but he nodded, jaw tense. ‘Thanks,’ he mouthed back.

Jack nodded, then was unceremoniously shoved aside so Kent could press his face to the glass, eventually succeeding in making Eric laugh. Jack wanted to feel annoyed, but seeing Eric’s face light up released tension in his shoulders he hadn’t known he was carrying.

*** 

Nine minutes left into the second period, and it took Jack a minute to notice the commotion on the player’s bench. He was watching Princeton, their giant of a d-man who had nearly taken Holster out of the game with a perfectly-timed check which left him curled up on the ice. He’d needed a minute, and eventually got back out there, but the Princeton man was out for blood, it seemed, and Jack was trying to figure out why.

It wasn’t until Kent nudged him, and nodded to where Eric was standing, that Jack realised what was happening. One of the coaches was trying to put Eric in, and Eric was pushing back. Jack couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he saw the tinge in Eric’s cheeks, and the way he was shaking his head back and forth.

Jack, being who he was—captain of his team, with faith in Eric—acted without thinking. He shoved himself over the railing, and strolled into the player’s box without permission. Everyone was staring, and his name was whispered a few times, and the coaches looked torn between forcing him out, and letting him go.

Jack ignored them all, and walked right up to Eric who was staring with wide eyes. “You can do this,” he said.

Eric blinked. “Jack…that guy…he almost took out Holster. I…I can’t…”

“You’re faster than he is,” Jack said. “You’re faster, and you can skate through. We’ve been working on this, Eric. Your team has your back, and you’re stronger than you think you are. It’s just going to be for a couple minutes.”

“You said…”

“I know what I said, and I was being an ass,” Jack said hurriedly. “Eric…Bitty,” he said, trying out the name and almost smiling at the way it felt on his tongue, “I believe in you.”

Eric took a breath, and nodded, and with shaking hands grabbed his stick, pushed his mouth guard in, and hit the ice.

Jack held his breath as he watched Eric skate, taking his position to the left of Ransom who was getting ready to face-off with Princeton. The clock began, and the game resumed, and Eric was flying. He wasn’t going for the puck yet, but Jack could see him tracking it.

The minutes ticked by, and just before line change, it happened.

Eric was open, and Shitty hit the puck to him. He was racing toward the net, his speed unbelievable. He didn’t have an open shot, but Ransom did, so he flung it over, and then…

Jack watched with wide eyes, the whole thing happen in almost slow motion. Ransom took the shot, and sank it glove-side. As the puck hit the net, the giant d-man hit Eric. He used his bulk and speed to get Eric up, airborne, and Jack felt his heart stop as Eric’s helmet flew off just as he crashed down.

The crowd was screaming from the goal, but everything seemed strangely silent. Jack’s mouth opened, and only one word escaped. “Bitty.”

*** 

Jack’s knee was shaking until Kent laid a firm hand over it. He looked over, and he let out a huffing breath before he said, for the hundredth time that night, “This is my fault.”

Kent scoffed. “Jack…”

“I know,” Jack snapped. “But I fucked up. I said all that shit to him over text, never really apologised, and then talked him into getting on the ice. He knew the guy would come for him and I…”

“Injuries happen. He’s going to be fine,” Kent said.

Jack knew that. Logic dictated that it was a mild concussion. Eric had been aware enough to skate off the ice, though apparently when he got back into the exam room, he’d been bad enough they had him transported to the hospital for a CT scan. Jack and Kent had raced after Eric, but they hadn’t been allowed to see him yet. And since he had no family, they were determined to stay until he was released.

“Mr Zimmermann? Mr Parson?”

Jack’s head snapped up and there was a nurse in faded blue scrubs waiting.

“You can go back. Mr Bittle’s going to be discharged, and there are some aftercare instructions the doctor would like to go over with you. Which one of you is he staying with?”

Jack and Kent exchanged a confused look, but Jack quickly spoke up. “That would be me.”

Kent raised a brow, but didn’t argue. “How about I go pull the car up?”

Jack passed his keys over, then followed the nurse back to the exam room. Eric was in the bed, his eyes fogged from whatever pain medication they’d given him. He had a slight smile on his face, but he looked vaguely panicked when his eyes fell on Jack.

“I didn’t know you were here,” he said.

Jack walked over to the bed, trying to appear calmer than he felt. “Of course. Kent’s here too, he’s getting the car and I’m going to…take you home?”

Eric’s cheeks flushed. “They said…everyone’s heading home soon and they said I should have someone with me for a few days. But…I don’t…um.”

“I have a guest room,” Jack said quietly. He wanted to reach out, to brush Eric’s hair away from his forehead, but he restrained himself for the moment.

The doctor appeared a minute later, with Eric’s discharge instructions. “…just a mild concussion,” he concluded after telling Jack everything Jack already knew. “He should be fine in a few days, but if he experiences any of the major warning signs here, bring him back in. No screens until he sees his GP for a follow-up, and light reading, if any.”

Jack nodded. He knew the drill front and back, but still took the instructions, and Eric’s pain medication script. “Thank you.”

The doctor nodded, then looked back at Eric. “I’ll get the discharge paperwork started, and you should be out of here in a few.” With that, he left, and Jack quickly turned back to Eric who was looking dazed and sleepy.

“Do I…should I…sleep?” Eric asked, his words slurred.

Jack laughed. “You can rest now. Kenny’s getting the car, and we’ll be out of here soon.”

Eric nodded, and his eyes fluttered closed. Jack couldn’t seem to help himself as he reached out, and brushed Eric’s fringe back. Eric let out a tiny sigh, and when Jack stopped, he groaned. “Felt nice. That…”

Jack resumed the motion, and Eric’s face softened. “I’m sorry about before,” Jack said. He knew Eric was dazed, and he’d apologise again once he was in his right mind, but he had to say it now. “What I said…I didn’t mean any of it, okay? I like you, Eric. And I was unfair and mean. I’m so…merde, I’m so sorry.”

Eric reached up, his hand moving slow and soft, and he pushed it against the top of Jack’s. His eyes were still closed, but his mouth formed into a gentle smile and he shrugged. “I like you too, Jack. So nice. People are so wrong about you. Gosh.”

Jack felt his face heat with a blush, but he said nothing, and he watched as Eric’s body relaxed into a slight doze. His hand stayed in Eric’s hair, brushing it softly, his eyes tracing the lines of his face. He couldn’t deny how he felt now. There was no point in it, and he didn’t want to lie to himself. He liked Eric. He wanted to keep touching him, to hold him and kiss him, and ask him to dinner.

He wasn’t sure he deserved it, wasn’t sure Eric would have any interest in him at all beyond the obligation he felt toward Bob but…

“Jack?”

Jack turned and saw Kent leaning in the doorway. Kent’s eyes were fixed on Jack’s hand, but Jack refused to pull it away. “He’s sleeping. Just waiting on discharge papers. Do you uh…want to see if they can fill his script?” He used his other hand to pass over the papers.

Kent took them, but kept staring. “Is this…do you…?”

“Yes,” Jack said from behind a sigh. “Yeah. I like him.”

Kent hummed, then nodded once. “Okay. Does he know?”

Jack shook his head. “He asked me to keep petting his hair so…”

“Will you tell him?”

Jack felt his stomach clench, anxiety racing up his spine, but he found himself nodding, and was surprised he meant it. “I will. When he’s coherent enough to understand. I’m not…I won’t do anything when he’s like this.”

“Jesus, Jack,” Kent said, smacking his arm. “I know that. Just…I’m happy for you. I hope it works out.”

Jack breathed, and looked back down at Eric who was stirring softly. “Me too. Meet you downstairs?”

Kent gave a mock-salute, then hurried out to the pharmacy to get everything sorted as Jack waited for Eric’s discharge papers. A minute later, just before the doctor came in, Eric’s eyes fluttered open, and he smiled.

“You’re still here. Thought I was dreamin’.”

Jack laughed. “I’m here.”

“Did we win?”

Jack blinked for a second, then laughed as he finally pulled his hand away. “I don’t know. Kenny and I raced here as soon they took you away.”

Eric’s brow furrowed, and he reached for Jack’s hand, and Jack quickly and readily gave it. “Rans’ goal. Was it good?”

Jack nodded. “Uh yes, it was.”

“So…I got an assist?”

Jack threw his head back and laughed. “Yes, Eric. You got an assist.”

Eric grinned, in spite of the pain he had to be in, and he squeezed Jack’s fingers. “Not bad for my first game. Apart from getting concussed. I’m pretty proud of myself.”

Jack’s grin threatened to split his face as he squeezed Eric’s hand back. “Yeah, Bits. You should be.”

“Bits. I like that,” Eric replied.

Jack flushed. “Good. I like it too.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to get Chanukah in this chapter, but it ended up going long so that'll be the next bit (which should update soon). Also the first night of Chanukah is coming up!! In four days!! So I'll be starting my 8 nights of Chanukah fics which might delay this fic's updates a tiny bit, but it shouldn't be too bad.
> 
> No real warnings for this chapter apart from Jack continuing to discuss his anger management issues, and Bitty dealing with some of his feelings of abandonment from his family.

He knew he was pushing himself, but the longer he ran, the longer it would be before he had to be home. They had a game that night, but it would be late, and there really was no rush to be back at his place. The moment his parents learnt Eric had been hurt, they’d rushed to book a flight and landed in Providence late the following afternoon.

Eric’s concussion was mild, but symptomatic enough it was best he stayed with people. Jack didn’t mind having him, but the guilt was still eating at him, and his parents there was making it worse. Eric had spent most of the first day in and out of sleep, and he’d been still out when Jack left for his morning work-out.

Jack was pushing his tenth mile when his phone’s music cut off, and he glanced down at the screen to see Cindy’s number there. Pausing his run, Jack answered the call and stepped away from the treadmill. “Hello?”

“Jack? Am I catching you at a bad time?”

“Non,” Jack said. “I’m just finishing up my morning routine. It ran a little long this morning.”

“On purpose?” she asked.

Jack sighed. He’d already texted her about Eric’s injury, and his apology at the hospital. “A little,” he admitted. “My parents are here, and they’re with Eric right now. I want to talk to him but…” He trailed off, and she made a small noise of encouragement for him to go on. “I have a game tonight, so I can’t afford to take a Xanax, and thinking about dealing with these emotions and the guilt right before I have to get on the ice is…a lot.”

“You’re not under any obligation to put yourself in a bad place. The apology can wait, you know.”

“I know,” Jack breathed. “I do. But it feels wrong to have him there without saying something. I don’t think he remembers much from the hospital and he hasn’t said much to me since then.”

“Just remember to give him the time and space he asks for.”

“I know,” Jack said again.

“Alright well, I don’t want to keep you. I know you’ve got a schedule to keep. But if you need anything, don’t hesitate.”

He knew that, but thanked her anyway for reminding him, and when he rang off, he headed for the showers instead of running again. He’d pushed himself pretty far that morning, and the last thing he needed was to strain his body. They were reaching the end of the year, and playoffs—the potential playoffs—were just round the corner. He didn’t want to jeopardise that over something petty like avoidance. 

He showered off as quickly as he could, then headed out for the afternoon. He’d get in early enough for his pre-game warmups, and that would be plenty of time to keep himself centred and get back on track mentally for the game. It was just the afternoon he had to worry about. If he could get away with keeping down the tension between him and Eric, he’d call it a win. And after tonight he had two days break, one last game, then the winter holiday. It wasn’t much, but it was enough, and he promised himself he’d deal with it as soon as he could.

*** 

Eric woke in a daze, his head still swimming from the hit. This morning, though, lacked the confusion of when Eric had first woken up in Jack’s apartment. It had been a little terrifying, in a bed that wasn’t his, surrounded by unfamiliar sights and sounds. It wasn’t until Bob poked his head round the corner that Eric remembered the game, the hit, and being taken to Jack’s after his short stay in hospital.

He was surprised, initially, to find Bob and Alicia there, but they didn’t draw attention to their presence other than to check on his symptoms—which luckily were mild—and to make sure he had everything he needed. Eric spent most of that first day sleeping, and had only gotten up twice to eat, use the bathroom, and wash his face.

Now, however, he was feeling awake, restless, and a little irritated. He remembered hearing something about people being extra moody after head injuries, and he could feel his emotions riding high under his skin. He felt on the verge of either screaming or crying, and he was torn between wanting to curl up alone, and collapsing in someone’s arms.

With a sigh, Eric sat up—slow to make sure he wasn’t too dizzy—and he laid his feet on the cool floor. Before he could get up, there was a small knock on the door, and he turned just as Alicia poked her head in.

“Oh chéri, you’re awake.”

“Yeah, just got up.” He realised her hands were behind her back, and he frowned at her.

“We had a visitor today. A Mr Knight?”

Eric’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh um…”

She brought her hands back round and she saw he was holding Señor Bun. “He said you might be missing this.”

Eric blushed hotly. “That’s…it’s…um…”

Alicia set the bun down on the bedside table. “It’s okay. You know Jack still has his own security blanket?” When Eric’s brows lifted again, she laughed. “One of my friends found it for him when he was three. Has he ever told you what he wanted to be when he grew up?”

Eric shook his head carefully. “I didn’t think he wanted anything besides hockey.”

She laughed, delighted. “Oh he did. Once. We went to this little county fair in upstate New York when we were visiting my parents. And they had this petting zoo with farm animals. Jack was a little wary, but then he saw a dairy cow and fell in love.”

“Oh my god, bless his heart,” Eric whispered, feeling warmth all over at the thought of tiny Jack becoming enamoured with a cow.

Alicia laughed, nodding. “He wanted to quit hockey and become a dairy farmer after that. And for a long time, whenever he’d have a bad game, he’d throw his stick down and mutter about running away to live on a farm.”

“That’s…the best thing I’ve ever heard,” Eric said, grinning.

Alicia smiled back. “Every now and then Bob calls him Farmer Jack just to see what his face will do. Anyway I know he still has the blanket, even if he doesn’t sleep with it anymore.” She looked back over at Señor Bun, then at Eric who’s brow furrowed again from the pain. “You hurting right now?”

Eric started to nod, but it made his head ache viciously, and he pushed two fingers against his temple. “Uhg. Yeah, sorry, Mrs Zimmermann…”

“Eric,” she warned.

He sighed, but grinned. “Alicia. You know my momma would…” He stopped then, the pain in his chest overwhelming the pain in his head, because all he wanted, suddenly, was his mother. He was hurt, and alone, and in the apartment of a guy he was pretty sure hated his guts, and lord he just wanted some comfort. He wanted to be enough for someone just as he was.

Something must have shown on his face then, because Alicia was in the room, quick as a flash, shutting the door behind her. She crossed to the bed in a few quick strides, and settled down next to him. “Eric…do you want to talk about it?”

He licked his lips. “It’s nothing. Really. I just feel a bit…it’s hard not having a home? Even though I’m a grown man who can take care of himself.”

An expression flickered over her face, then she said, “Can I hug you?”

His throat tightened and his eyes burned with the unshed tears and all he wanted was to say yes, but it was warring with the bigger part of him who wanted to reject love that wasn’t his to take. But the look on her face was so sincere, and he was in pain, and he found himself nodding in spite of all of that internal conflict.

Her arms around him were warm and soothing, in a way only a parent’s could be. A way Eric remembered from when he was a kid and he was suffering at school. It was only in the privacy of his home that he was allowed to take comfort against the torment he was suffering. And he hadn’t experienced it in so long.

The small sob ripped from his throat as she began to rock him gently, mindful of the injury, and he clung. Her perfume was subtle and sweet, and nothing at all like Suzanne’s had been, but no less telling of a mother.

“Mon petit coeur,” she murmured, stroking his hair.

He regained his composure shortly after, swiping the backs of his hands over his cheeks. “Goodness look at me falling apart for no darn reason and I just…”

“Eric,” she said, dropping one arm, but keeping one firmly round his shoulders, “I want you back in bed and resting. I’m going to bring you breakfast and something for the pain. Bob and I will go out shopping just as soon as Jack gets back, and he can keep an eye on you.”

“Oh,” Eric said, and his cheeks went bright with colour, “um. I mean that’s…you don’t have to wait for him. I’m sure he doesn’t want to have to deal with me here.”

“He’s the one who suggested it,” Alicia said. “Eric, did…something happen between you two?”

Eric swallowed, and he remembered Jack’s tentative apology through the glass before the hit. And Jack talking him through his nerves. So maybe he was jumping to conclusions about how Jack felt. Though he also remembered those texts clear as day, and it was hard for his brain to accept such fundamental differences because he wasn’t sure which Jack he’d be dealing with later.

“No just…he’s a big hockey star, and I’m just some kid.”

Alicia laughed. “Jack is my son, and no matter how famous he is, he’s still just some kid to me. Just like you. Don’t go thinking he’s incapable of being human, Eric.”

Eric laughed in spite of himself. “Trust me, Alicia, I would never think he’s anything but human. I just don’t want to be trouble.”

She smoothed his hair back, then gently pushed him back toward the pillows, then reached for Señor Bun, tucking him in next to Eric. “You rest. Food. Then meds. Then more sleep.”

Eric sighed in protest, but the outburst had drained him, and sleep was already tugging at the corners of his consciousness. Pain meds sounded wonderful, and something to eat. He’d deal with Jack soon enough but right now with all of that past him, he just wanted the simple comforts of this bed, and the memory of being hugged. It wasn’t going to cure anything, but he couldn’t deny it had been exactly what he needed. Pushing Señor Bun into his chest, his eyes closed, and he drifted off.

*** 

Jack walked into his condo just as Alicia was carrying a tray from the back room. He tried to swipe it out of her hands, but she spun past him and shook her head. “Did you shower at the facility?”

“Ouias, mama.” Jack followed her into the kitchen where he saw a small spread on the counter he recognised from his childhood. Alicia had always kept game-day food laid out for Bob—slow carbs, high proteins, a lot of fresh veg and fruits. He nabbed a carrot stick, and eased himself down onto a stool. “How’s Eric doing?”

“Well enough. Sleeping,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “He was a little upset earlier.”

Jack’s cheeks went hot with guilt. “Did he euh…say why?”

Alicia shrugged. “Not specifically. I think some of it’s the injury. Also he misses his parents.”

Jack’s stomach twisted. “Yeah they um…”

“I know,” she breathed. She came round the corner, putting a hand to his cheek before pulling him into a hug. “Just know we’d never…it would never happen to us, okay?”

Jack’s belly went warm, and he offered a smile. “I know, mama.” And he did, but it felt nice to hear it, soothing against the guilt he was still feeling over Eric.

“Anyway, your papa and I are going to re-stock your place, and do a little shopping for Chanukah since we can’t head back home.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “I…why not?”

“Eric can’t fly,” she said. “Not with his head the way it is. And you know we’re not leaving him here alone.”

“No I…of course not,” Jack said.

“So we’ll stock up, and I’ll cook, and it’ll be fine. You have a menorah?” 

Jack bit his lip in thought. “Somewhere, but…I might have lent it to Kenny and Alexei. I have a key to Alexei’s place but…”

“It’s fine, I’m sure we can find something,” she said, and gave his cheek another pat before stepping back. “Eat something, and rest. We’ll watch your game on TV tonight with Eric.”

Jack nodded. “Does he…will he need anything or…?”

“He’s just taken something for pain, so he should be out for a while. Call us if you need us to grab something for you.”

Nodding absently, Jack pulled his phone out before reaching for the small dish of peanut butter, and began to eat it with one of the celery sticks. He heard his parents chatting, then grabbing keys, then the door shut, and Jack was alone.

Eric was sleeping, and all seemed well enough. But he couldn’t help wondering if Eric’s upset had been because of him. He was trying his best not to take responsibility for something that wasn’t his fault, but avoiding the conversation left him feeling unsure. And it was grating on his nerves.

Jack didn’t deal well with this kind of stress, and he had no real distractions until the game.

With a sigh, he cobbled together a sandwich, and headed for the living room to watch tape until he either fell asleep, or Eric needed him. Really, he thought as he settled in, he kind of hoped it was the latter.

*** 

Eric woke in a slight daze, but felt better than he had before. His head ached a little, but when he grabbed the side of the bed and pushed himself to standing, his head was still, and nothing was aching. Stretching his back, he carefully made his way out of the room, slipping into the bathroom to freshen up. He desperately needed a shower, but he had no idea where his stuff was—if he had any at all, and it felt a little rude to use it without even checking in first.

Padding into the living room with the too-big joggers half-dragging on the ground, Eric wrapped an arm round his middle, and his eyes fell on Jack who was curled up in the corner of the sofa. His brow was furrowed as he thumbed through his phone, pausing every few seconds before continuing on with whatever he was reading.

“I’m jealous,” he said, and almost smiled when his voice made Jack jump in the air.

Jack all-but dropped his phone and his whole body went tense. “Are you…do you need something? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

Eric shrugged, and took careful steps to the arm chair. “I’m actually feeling pretty good. Not nauseous or dizzy anymore.”

Jack gave him a very careful look before nodding. “Okay. Do you…are you hungry? I could make something or…I think my parents will be back soon so…”

“I’m okay,” Eric said, putting Jack out of his obvious, awkward misery. “I can rustle up something if I need to. Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for your game?”

Jack shrugged. “Just got up from my nap. I’ll head out as soon as they get back. Are you…um. How are you feeling?”

Eric rubbed the side of his head where it still ached. “Um. Been better. I mean, I’ve had a concussion before so it’s not that big of a deal. Don’t remember much after the check though.”

Jack’s shoulders sank down. “I’m sorry about that. I should have listened to you.”

Shaking his head very carefully, Eric leant forward over his thighs. “Seriously Jack, it’s hockey. I knew the risks. I needed to take them if I was ever going to get ice time.” Sitting back, Eric rubbed at his temple and tried to ignore the blossoming despair in his gut. “Not that it’ll happen again. I can’t imagine Hall or Murray are gonna want me out there. My size is probably a liability or something.”

“Eric,” Jack said softly, “there aren’t a large number of players your size, but there are some, and they’re good. And not half as fast as you are. If you really want to play hockey, you can.”

Eric shrugged. “I do. I actually really love it, you know? I just wish I was strong enough to take a hit and get back up.”

“You did,” Jack said, his voice firm now, his Captain Voice. “Eric, you took the hit, went down, but you skated off the ice.”

“Yeah, then I got carted to the hospital where I remember nothing,” he said a little moodily. “And lord only knows when I’ll be able to play again.”

“When your doctor says you can,” Jack replied, but there was something funny to his tone now, that made Eric look up. They connected gazes for a while, and then Jack’s face did something funny—it went soft and almost afraid. Eric had never seen him look like that before. “I owe you an apology. One you can remember.”

Eric frowned. “Um…?”

“I…we talked,” Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck. “We talked at the hospital, but I had a feeling you wouldn’t remember and I…I can’t get into it much right now, not with the game tonight, but I want you to know what I said over text…”

“Oh,” Eric said, breathy and quiet. “Um.”

“I’ve been working with my therapist for a while now, about my…” Jack stopped, licking his lips, and he wasn’t meeting Eric’s eyes. “When I get anxious and insecure, I lash out. It’s an anger management issue. I don’t really think before I speak, I just…say things. And I’m a lot better than I used to be. When Kent and I were together it was pretty terrible. We were pretty terrible to each other. When I texted you…” He swallowed thickly and stopped.

“Jack,” Eric said, and shifted to the edge of the chair, “you don’t need to do this now.”

Jack shook his head. “I just need to…” He let out a harsh puff of air. “It wasn’t you. At the Nike benefit, my ex was there, and the last time we spoke, she said some things to me that made me uncomfortable. I didn’t want to see her, and I took it out on you, and you didn’t deserve it. I don’t think you owe me anything. And I’m just. Sorry.”

Eric wasn’t sure he could fully process all of it now, but Jack sounded sincere, and Eric realised he wasn’t angry. He was hurt but he wanted to forgive Jack. “I accept your apology. I’m not sure if I did the first time,” Eric said, and smiled a little when Jack’s lips twitched, “but I do now. And if you wanna talk about it later, we can. But I get it, Jack. I do. I’m not always the nicest guy, and I’ve done petty, passive aggressive things that hurt people. So…as long as you don’t do it again…”

“I can’t promise that,” Jack said. “I can promise to try, and I can promise I’ll be working on it probably the rest of my life.”

“That’s all I can ask, then,” Eric said.

Jack’s eyes searched his face, as though looking for sincerity and honesty, and when he found it, he relaxed against the sofa. “Thank you, Eric.”

Eric smiled at him, and felt a warmth rushing through him. It was stupid to like him this much. Stupid to wallow in feelings that would probably remain unrequited for the rest of his life, but he couldn’t help it. Jack wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t a bad guy. And Eric decided if someone was worthy of his love, it might as well be someone who was trying as hard as Jack Zimmermann.

*** 

**I did it. We talked, I apologised and explained and he forgave me.**

_I’m glad to heart that, Jack. How do you feel now?_

**Better. And like I want to try harder to make sure it doesn’t happen again.**

_You know the steps to do that. And you have my number if you need help. Good luck in your game tonight, I’ll be watching._

**Thanks. For everything.**

The Falconers didn’t win. But Jack got a hat trick in the second period, scoring the team’s only three goals. They lost by two, but it wasn’t the worst they’d ever played, and when Snowy jammed a hat on Jack’s head, Jack tucked it away in his bag to take home for Eric. If he’d want it. They were feeling the loss of Alexei keenly, and it reminded Jack of how important every member of the team was.

But he was far less upset than he might have been of their standing was worse. As it was, they were on track to make the playoffs, and had a decent shot at the cup this year, provided they kept up their momentum. There was something else though, that hit Jack almost like a sack of bricks as he sank into the cold tub to ice his aching body. Jack didn’t feel like losing a chance at the cup was going to suffocate him. In fact, the thought of not making it to the finals didn’t leave him gasping or aching in his chest.

Jack had gotten better with his desire to win, and to prove himself, but this was the first year he really and truly felt it would be okay.

He wasn’t sure what to make of that, but it floated round his mind as he dipped into his hot tub, then showered and dressed for the drive home.

He expected everyone to be asleep, and he was only half surprised to find Bob sat on the sofa, some old black and white film on in the background without the sound up. Bob smiled at Jack, beckoning him over, and Jack joined his dad, their knees knocking together.

“How was the game?” Bob asked in quiet French.

Jack shrugged. “Alright. Did you watch?”

Bob snorted. “Jack, I haven’t missed a game since you started. Of course I watched. I’m asking how you are.”

Jack shrugged. “Could be better, but it wasn’t that bad. We’re still leading right now.”

Bob’s smile was proud and soft, and Jack let himself believe for that minute his dad was proud of him for his accomplishments, and would be just as proud, even if the Falconers were in last place. It was hard, living up to a legend like Bob Zimmermann, but sometimes it was nice to forget he was Bad Bob, and remember he was also just papa.

“Well I’m off for bed. I just wanted to wait up and tell you good job on the hat trick. And make sure you were okay. Eric said you seemed a little upset.”

“I had…a bad couple of days. I lashed out at Eric,” Jack admitted, and watched his dad for disappointment. Bob merely looked concerned, so Jack went on. “I talked to Cindy about it, and apologised to Eric, of course. But I was carrying it around with me. I think he noticed.”

Bob sighed, and as he stood, he leant down and pressed a kiss to the centre of Jack’s forehead. “I love you. Sleep well.”

Jack’s throat went tight, and he felt a small wash of self-hatred for how he pushed his dad away so often. It wasn’t easy to be the son of Bob Zimmermann, but Bob did his best to carry the weight of the burden, and Jack wanted to do better. To be better.

He lost himself in his thoughts until he heard a noise, and he glanced up to see a sleep-rumpled Eric stood near the wall by the TV. “Eric. Did you need something?”

Eric shook his head. “No um. I heard noise and I couldn’t sleep. I can head back off if you need to be alone though. I know losses aren’t much fun.”

Jack blinked, then shrugged. “I’m okay. We did pretty well in spite of the loss.”

Eric took that as an invitation to sit, which he did, on the sofa this time. There was a space of cushion between them, but Jack put his knee up on it, then reached down and dug into his bag until he found the hat. He offered a smile as he passed it over.

“From the um…”

“Hat trick,” Eric said, and put it on backward. “How do I look?”

“A little too much like Kenny for my comfort right now. Just keep Britney out of it and I think I’ll be alright,” Jack chirped.

Eric stared, then laughed and kicked his foot out, clipping Jack in the calf. “Wow. It’s almost midnight and I’m concussed and you’re chirping me. I can’t believe this.”

Jack laughed again, and settled back against the cushions. “I’m glad to see your survived my pre-holidays parents. They can get a little intense.”

Eric chuckled. “Your mom spent like two hours teaching me how the Dreidel game works, and your dad took all those chocolate coin things because he said you steal them.”

Jack’s eyes went wide, but his cheeks pinked. “That’s a lie.”

“Something tells me it’s totally not,” Eric said, kicking out at Jack again.

Jack’s eyes went wide, and he kicked back. “Violence, with a concussion.”

“Chirp chirp chirp,” Eric said. “Your mom’s also teaching me her um.” He flushed and shrugged. “I’m gonna murder the word. The doughnuts with jam.”

“Sufganiyot,” Jack said, and he felt his mouth water. Eric laughed at his expression and Jack kicked at him again. It was drifting well past the line of being just friendly, and Jack knew he should stop, and yet…he found himself shifting closer to Eric. “It’s the one time of year I really let myself off my nutrition plan. I mean, everything’s fried which isn’t great but…I love it.”

“That’s what your dad said,” Eric replied with a bright, sunny smile. “You know Holster’s Jewish but he always goes home for the winter break so I never got to see what he was like. I kind of reckon he was like you. Though with the dreidel, I think I’d be terrified to see him and Rans go at it. Holster’s…competitive.”

Jack chuckled. “I’m surprised my mother didn’t warn you about playing with me and my dad.”

Eric’s grin widened. “Oh. She did. We decided when you two go at it, we’ll work on the food.”

Jack snorted and leant back, his arm stretched along the length of the cushions. His fingertips were almost close enough to brush Eric’s shoulder…but not quite. Not unless he stretched further. “I’m happy to have you here. All we need to do is teach you French and you’ll fit right in.”

Eric rolled his eyes. “One secondary language was enough for me, thank you very much.”

Jack’s eyebrows rose. “Oh yeah? What other language do you know.”

To Jack’s utter surprise, instead of Eric opening his mouth, he lifted his hands and twisted them into complicated shapes, sharp and pointed and fast. It took him a moment to realise what Eric was doing, and he sucked in his breath.

“Sign language?”

Eric shrugged. “Samwell doesn’t have a lot of language options, but like…” He bit his lip and shrugged. “Holster’s Hard of Hearing? And um. He uses sign but no one in the haus knew it. I mean, Rans was learning, obviously, and Shitty wanted to but with his double major he couldn’t fit it in. And the Frogs well…” He trailed off. “It seemed only fair, you know. Plus it comes in handy on the ice during plays if we don’t want the other team to know what we’re up to.”

Jack stared. “I had no idea.”

“It was one of the reasons he didn’t get drafted. He’s legally blind without his glasses, and his hearing loss is progressive. He was injured pretty badly during a game when one of his hearing aid batteries died, and he didn’t hear his teammate shouting at him before he got checked.”

Jack didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t delved into the background of Eric’s teammates much. He knew about Birkholtz. He remembered him from the Juniors—Kenny reminded Jack they’d played him a few times, but he hadn’t realised all of that. “What’s…does he have a plan for after school?”

Eric shrugged. “He’s thinking about a lot of things, but I try not to mother him. They chirp me a lot for that, especially since I don’t…you know. Really have a plan. And they think I’m just taking out my lack of family on them.”

Jack bit his lip, and this time he did shift over, and this time he did let his hand drop on Eric’s shoulder. “You do know that’s not true, right? Trust me, they care. You’re just as much their family as they are yours. That’s how teams work.”

Eric’s cheeks pinked and he looked away, though he didn’t pull back from Jack’s touch. “It’s just hard, and I feel like…I don’t belong anywhere and I don’t know what to do about it. But I have a while to figure it out. And um. And thanks to your dad….”

“Eric,” Jack said, breathy and soft, “what I said…”

“I know,” Eric said quickly. “Look, I do know you didn’t mean it, but you have to know that taking him up on his offer was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my whole life. And it still feels wrong some days. But your momma hugged this morning and I realised I haven’t been hugged my someone’s momma since my own and…” Eric swallowed thickly, and Jack looked away, offering him a moment of privacy while he dealt with the storm of emotions in his own chest. “It was nice. And I like feeling welcome.”

“You are welcome,” Jack said. “My dad doesn’t just do that because he’s addicted to giving out charity. My dad…he cares. And I can see why.”

Eric’s cheeks went pink again, and he ducked his head before reaching up and squeezing the top of Jack’s hand. “Thanks. Um. I should go to bed now, but I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay,” Jack said quietly, and felt the slow drag of Eric’s hand over his own like a fire rushing through him. His breath was shallow and quick, and his eyes stared at the empty space on the sofa long after Eric was gone.

It was official. Jack was besotted, and he wasn’t sure there was any coming back from it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I was going to be able to update, but then today was mad and I needed to give myself something as a reward for putting up with my day. So enjoy! I'm definitely feeling this fic so every free chance I get, I'm working on chapters. My guess is there's going to be two more, plus an epilogue. That being said, Jack and Bitty become official in the next chapter, which means two chapters plus an epilogue of official Zimbits fluff. Thanks for the comments so far, you've all been amazing! <3

The first long, proper shower Eric had after the injury felt like heaven. Jack insisted Eric use his own personal one, which was massive, with three shower-heads—one of them attached to the ceiling and poured down like a rain storm—and he had a collection of Lush products Eric refused to believe had come from anyone but Kent.

A bath sounded amazing at some point, too. Jack’s tub was to die for—big enough to fit at least three grown men, with jets, and a soft pillow. But his head was still fuzzy enough he didn’t trust himself, and it wasn’t like he was about to ask Jack to keep an eye on him.

Things were getting…interesting between them. That was the only word Eric could come up with. Jack had been softer, and more open. He had even made a joke the night before about being a Hockey Robot which had Eric giggling, and his parents staring. It was new. It seemed as new for Bob and Alicia as it did for Eric, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that.

When Eric was thoroughly washed, covered in a soft rose scent of Jack’s shower smoothie, Eric stepped out and grabbed one of the towels to dry off. He could smell something frying from the kitchen, and he figured Alicia was starting in on the latkes already. The sufganiyot were already done, covered in confectioner’s sugar and resting. And Eric had attempted to help out with the cheesy pasta dish, but Alicia had shoo’d him out at that point and told him he was the guest, and he was there to enjoy, not work.

Eric wanted to protest—he loved cooking, loved baking, but the shower was too tempting, and though he was feeling better, he was still exhausted and being able to take it easy on that night was a big plus.

With Señor Bun, Shitty had also thrown together an overnight case for Eric, which wasn’t perfect, but he had comfy flannel pyjamas in there, and a Samwell t-shirt. Alicia told him it wasn’t tradition per se, but Jack’s favourite part of Chanukah was getting to wear his bedclothes to dinner, and they planned on keeping that up this year.

So, though he felt a bit silly, Eric padded out in his pyjamas and slippers, pausing in the doorway to the living room where Jack and Bob sat bent over the coffee table, their faces screwed up like they were in a face-off. Only instead of pucks and sticks, there was a small, clay dreidel between them, and a small pile of foiled chocolate coins on either side.

Eric strained to listen to what they were saying, except it was all in rapid French, and both looked pissed off enough he was definitely not going to ask. He managed to slip through the room just as Jack’s hand snatched some of the coins from the centre of the table, and Bob shouted.

“See what I mean,” Alicia said as she reached out and ruffled Eric’s still-wet hair. “We don’t mess with that.”

Eric laughed as the chirping got louder. “Do I want to know what they’re saying?”

She shook her head. “Jack likes to cheat.”

Eric’s eyebrows shot up. “Jack Zimmermann?”

“The very same,” she said. “One year we had his cousins over and all the gelt went missing. Hours after everyone went home, Bob went to check on him and there was Jack, three years old, his bed covered in gold foil, his face half chocolate. He has sneaky fingers where those coins are concerned.”

Eric couldn’t help his laugh, clapping his hand over his mouth. “Bless his heart, that boy.”

Alicia grinned. “I just let them have at it. I’ll play a game with them after it’s all out of their system. But really, watch your chocolate. He has no morals when it comes to sweets.”

Eric was surprised that Jack, of all people, would have such a sweet-tooth. And he made a mental note to test out his resolve with pies later on, if he got the chance. For now, though, he was content to sit at the counter and watch as Alicia finished up the dinner.

It was definitely different than Eric expected—though his only real experience had been one single Seder and that was only half-cobbled together the year Holster couldn’t make it home. But there was no matzah here, or lamb, or horseradish. The wine was some French region red, and there were dishes of sour cream, and what looked like apple sauce on the table.

“Looks amazing,” Eric said as she finished putting everything together.

“Thank you, chéri. Come on, let’s get the boys and we can light the first candle and get to eating. I’m starving.”

Eric followed behind quietly, keeping back because this was the part he felt wrong about. Their prayers, their song—which the three of them sang together in a harmony that surprised Eric—was finished, and the first candle was lit.

The ceremony of it all seemed strangely intimate, and very different from how he’d grown up with big, waving hands and loud hymns and exuberance. But this was nice. It was soft, and after a minute, he didn’t feel so left out. It was new, yes. And it was different, but he felt strangely at home. And when Jack caught his eye and grinned, Eric felt a wooshing through his entire body, and knew he was falling harder and faster than he meant to. But the crooked grin of the Falconers’ captain stayed with him, all through the meal, and all through the rest of that night.

*** 

Jack’s winter break lasted through the third night of Chanukah. On his first game back, Bob and Alicia had decided to drive up to New York to spend some time with Alicia’s family, and promised to be back for New Years.

It left Jack and Eric alone, just after lighting the fourth candle, and Eric was a little restless. 

“I’m feeling a lot better,” he blurted, picking at a latke perched at the edge of his plate.

Jack stared. “Good. That’s…good, right?”

Eric nodded. “I just um. I mean um. If you want me out of your way, or whatever. I know you’ve got a couple games and I don’t want to throw anything off.”

Jack found himself shaking his head, strangely put off by the idea that Eric might actually leave. It wouldn’t be the first string of Chanukah nights Jack spent alone, and he’d never minded them before, but having Eric here was…

Well he wasn’t sure what it was.

He liked him, yes, but it felt like more. It felt like flying and falling and spinning and standing still all at the same time. It was new and vaguely terrifying, and Jack desperately wished Kent and Alexei were back to take the edge off because none of it really made a lot of sense.

“It’s best if you stay,” he said eventually. “You feel better, but if anything happens, no one is at your place. Right?”

Eric shrugged. “No. They’re not. I mean…if you’re sure…”

“I am,” Jack said, firm and quick, which seemed to put a sudden and firm end to the protests. Eric went pink, but when Jack smiled at him, Eric smiled back, and that was enough.

*** 

Eric woke on the twenty-ninth with a blinding headache. It stretched from behind his ear where he’d hit the ice, all the way across his forehead. He couldn’t open his eyes much, and even the sliver of light through the curtains was too much to bear.

His thoughts were jumbled, and it took him several minutes to make it from the bedroom to the living room in hopes he’d find Jack. But, unfortunately, the place was empty. Jack was either at his morning work-out, or at practise, and Eric had no idea where his phone had gone. He peered one eye, squinting back at the hallway, but his stomach gave a violent lurch, and instead he collapsed on the sofa, pulling the soft blanket around his head, and drifted off again.

He didn’t come to until a warm hand pressed against the back of his neck, and when he opened his eyes again, the pain had eased, but only slightly. Jack was there, kneeling beside him, and through his hazy vision, Eric could make out an expression of vague concern.

“Eric?” Jack asked.

“Mmph,” Eric managed, and swallowed though his mouth and throat were painfully dry. “Headache,” he managed. Everything still felt foggy and strange, and it caused a flicker of panic to well in his gut. “Can’t…everything’s so…”

Jack pressed his wrist to Eric’s forehead, then sighed. “Have you thrown up?”

“No,” Eric said, “but wanted to. Light hurts. Everything feels kind of…I’m a little out of it.”

Jack hummed. “Give me a minute, okay?”

Eric muttered a few affirmative sounds, then closed his eyes as Jack walked a few feet away. Eric heard a long string of French after, and his name a few times, and then Jack was back, his hand prying Eric’s chin up.

“Look up at me, Eric.”

Eric did, and his eyes watered from the light, and from Jack being so close. Jack stared for a minute, then rocked back on his heels, speaking again in rapid French into his phone.

“Eric, papa wants to talk to you.”

Eric wanted to chuck Jack’s phone across the room, but he was coherent enough to know that was a terrible idea. And luckily he didn’t have to move, Jack held the phone to his ear, pressing lightly. “Um. Bob?”

“Eric,” Bob said, his voice clearly and deliberately soft, “I think you have a migraine, but you might want to get seen. When is your follow-up appointment?”

“Oh um. Well. I don’t…I haven’t made the appointment yet,” he admitted.

Bob let out a tiny breath. “Is there a reason?”

“I don’t uh. I don’t have insurance,” he said, his face going hot, though he’d rather blame that on the headache. “Since my parents um. Yeah. So I don’t have insurance because the student one is so expensive and I wasn’t working enough hours.”

There was a pause, then Bob said, “Try and eat something. Jack has a game tonight so I’ll be there in…” He took a breath. “Three hours. I can be there in three. So get ready when you can.”

“Bob,” Eric said quietly.

“Eric,” Bob said in reply. “Please.”

Eric’s brow furrowed, but frankly he was in too much pain to argue, so he sighed and said, “Okay,” and the phone was gone.

Jack was speaking again, and Eric knew he should start trying to move, but sleep was too tempting. His eyes started to close again, and he felt himself start to drift.

Eric woke a third time that morning, again to the feeling of a warm palm against the back of his neck. He felt disoriented by the sleep, no idea how long he’d been out, but Jack was easing him up now, pressing something into his palm.

“Take this. For the pain,” he said.

Eric obeyed without question, the pill bitter on his tongue, but the juice was cold and sweet, and was the best tasting thing Eric had ever had. When he could open his eyes fully, Jack was setting a sandwich on the table.

“Eat that, and you can shower. My dad will be here before I have to leave.”

Eric hummed his thanks as he dug in, and realised then his headache was starting to feel even better. Not great. The light was still awful, but he no longer wanted to cry, and the food was soothing. He didn’t look up when Jack wandered off, but by the time he’d finished his food, the other man had returned, and extended a hand.

“Viens ici.” Eric didn’t understand the words, but he understood the extended hand, and he let Jack draw him up. His head swam a bit, but as the food digested, Eric could feel the medication start to work, and his limbs went floaty and soft. The pain faded into the background as Jack drew him into his bedroom, and toward the bathroom.

“Wow you’re so nice,” Eric said. In the back of his mind he knew his words were coming too freely, too easily, but he couldn’t bring himself to care right then. “Jack. Jack, you hate me but you’re doing all this.”

Jack stopped in the bathroom doorway and stared. “I don’t…Eric I don’t hate you. And the medication is making you loopy.”

Eric giggled. “Yeah but. I mean you didn’t even like this. Like me. Your dad made this happen and I knew you hated it.”

“I didn’t,” Jack said, then sighed and dropped his hand onto Eric’s shoulder. “It seemed like a bad idea, but I don’t hate you. Go take your shower, Bitty.”

Eric’s mouth spread in a grin, his chest warm. “You never call me Bitty. That’s…it’s nice. Sounds nice.”

Jack let out an involuntary chuckle and guided Bitty inside. “Go. If you need help, just call for me. Be careful.”

Then Eric was alone in the shower, with his thoughts muddled by the migraine and the medication, and the overwhelming echo of Jack’s touch on his shoulder.

*** 

By the time Eric was clean and dressed, and had a short nap, the medication fog was fading, and although the headache wasn’t as bad, it was still present as a vague ache. Jack was dressed in the clothes he meant to wear to the arena, and he was sat on the sofa waiting.

“How are you feeling?” Jack asked.

Eric eased himself into the armchair. “Um. A little embarrassed about getting all…wordy.”

Jack laughed. “It’s fine. I’ve been in hospital on plenty of drugs. I’ve embarrassed myself plenty. And you didn’t give anything away.”

Eric’s mouth twitched. “Okay. Fair. Thanks for bein’ so understanding though. I’m um…maybe a little nervous? About my head. If it’s worse…”

“I got migraines for about two months after my last concussion,” Jack said swiftly. “It’s not abnormal, and you took a good fall, Eric. I’m sure it’s fine, but I agree with my dad, it’s better to have it checked out.”

Eric closed his eyes and sighed. “He’s going to pay for it, isn’t he?” When Jack was quiet, Eric looked at him. “I just mean…”

“Look,” Jack said, “I can’t say I understand what this is like. I’ve never had to go without. My dad was famous long before I was born, and it’s…I went right into the NHL from juniors. I’ve never…had experiences outside of this. But I know what it’s like to struggle and to need things, and to not want to ask for them. I did for years, and I suffered in the worst way possible for it. My dad’s going to take you to someone he knows, and yes, he’s going to pay for it. And they’re going to make sure you’re okay, and you can’t really put a price on that, Eric. And I know it sounds…shitty, but he won’t miss the money.”

Eric was torn between frustration at the situation, and gratitude. Because he did want to survive. And sure he had enough in his account to cover an Urgent Care visit if he wanted to, but he felt alone, and small. He felt the abandonment of his family keenly, and having Bob do this for him, it felt less sharp. And maybe pride wasn’t such a big deal in the face of his own health.

“Thanks,” he said very quietly, and when Jack smiled at him, it felt that much easier to bear.

*** 

The appointment went quick, and the doctor didn’t seem too concerned about his condition. He gave Eric another dose of something for the pain, and another script to take home. “Just keep an eye on it, and if they start to get worse, come back in.”

The doctor and Bob chatted for a bit longer, and by the time they got back to the car, Eric was feeling much better. Whatever that doctor had given him eased the pain without making him feel fuzzy.

“Thanks,” he said with a breath as they climbed into Bob’s car.

Bob grinned at him. “Of course. I actually wanted to stop at this little restaurant I’ve been dying to try. You up for eating?”

As if on cue, Eric’s stomach rumbled and he laughed. “Suppose I am. I feel really good, so might as well take advantage of it.”

Bob headed off down the street, and soon enough they were crammed into a small table at a kitchy little place with outdoor seating, and a gift shop full of odd knick knacks. The menu was small, but the quiche looked good, and soon enough they had fallen into easy, quiet conversation.

“…I mean not the best, but if I retake the class this summer, I feel like I can manage it,” Eric said when Bob asked about his exams. “I dunno though. I mean, maybe it was stupid to stress myself out over an exam that wasn’t even going to get me a passing grade.”

“I think you did what you needed to,” Bob said, pointing his fork at Eric. “There’s nothing wrong with needing to feel accomplished. I’m proud of you for sticking it out.”

Eric flushed. It had been way too long since he’d heard those words directed at him. He’d fallen so far, so fast, away from everything he’d once known, and it was a lot. “Thank you,” he managed. “I mean when Jack said…” He stopped when Bob’s eyebrows flew up, and realised that he hadn’t actually said anything about the texts.

“Jack said,” Bob prompted.

Eric looked away. “I don’t…just. Just promise me you won’t say anything to him. Because what he said was stupid, but he apologised plenty and I know he meant it.”

Bob nodded, though he still looked concerned. “Of course.”

Eric sighed. “He was upset, about the Nike benefit, because I couldn’t go. And he said a few nasty things, about it being pointless if I take the test, and…if I got ice time since it wouldn’t really be worth anything. But he was stressed about his ex being there,” Eric said in a hurry, after Bob’s face darkened. “Really it was nothing.”

“I know it wasn’t nothing,” Bob said after a moment. “Because I know my son, and I know he can cut to the quick when he wants to, when he’s not thinking about hurting people. But I also know he’s been working on his compulsive behaviour for a while now.”

Eric nodded quickly, feeling an odd sort of desperation and fear that Bob might start suddenly hating Jack, and it would be all his fault. “He was really good about his apology. I wasn’t even mad, swear, so don’t…”

“Eric,” Bob said, his voice soft, but commanding. Eric’s jaw clamped shut, and he hesitantly met Bob’s gaze. “I’m not angry with Jack. I might be angry if he had not apologised, or if he had continued to be cruel, but you seem okay. You forgave him?”

Eric nodded, his shoulders slumped. “I did. He didn’t try to make me feel like any of it was my fault, so it was easy to forgive him.”

“Okay,” Bob replied.

“I just don’t want you to think…badly of him. Don’t…I know what it’s like when parents um…” Eric cleared his throat. “And it’s just about the worst so don’t let one thing you know…hurt how you love your son.”

Bob’s face fell for a moment, and then he squared his shoulders and reached over, putting his hand on Eric’s arm. “Nothing Jack says or does will make me love him less, or support him less. I understand why you worry, and frankly I’d like to drag your father on the ice and teach him a thing or two about loving your son but…” Bob took a breath, and muttered a string of French before looking back up. “Obviously I can’t do that. But I’m here for you just as much as I am for Jack, and whatever’s between you two won’t change how I feel about either of you.”

Eric felt his eyes go hot, but he managed to keep his emotions in check, and he nodded. “Thanks.”

Bob grinned. “Of course. Now. Talk to me more about these Epikegsters and the Haus. I need to know if they’re anything like the ones Alicia snuck me in to when we first started dating.”

“Lord,” Eric said, taking a bite of his quiche, “well let me start with the disgusting, green couch of doom…”

After they finished eating, Bob and Eric began to peruse the gifts, grabbing a few things for both Alicia and Jack. Bob found a series of snarky bird fridge magnets, right before Eric spotted a stuffed cow which was resting on a high shelf. It was too tall for him to grab, so he tugged on Bob’s sleeve.

“Jack needs that,” he said.

Bob’s eyes went wide. “Mon dieu. Alicia told you about the cow?”

“The petting zoo, the blanket, the dairy farm, the whole thing,” Eric said solemnly. “I know y’all don’t do Chanukah presents but…”

Bob gave Eric a mischievous grin, and pulled it down. “But it’s necessary, isn’t it?”

Eric laughed. “Yeah. I really think it is.”

*** 

Jack limped into his apartment at half eleven, everything aching. The tubs hadn’t helped much after a nasty check by one of the Bruins’ more pissed off d-men who was slinging both his muscle mass and ugly chirps around the ice. Jack had managed to land wrong against the boards, wrenching his hip, but he’d skated through and managed a goal before the Bruins took the win at 3-2. It wasn’t either of the teams’ best games, but the loss stung as much as the injury.

Luckily the trainers said Jack should be alright for their final game New Years Day, and he had that night, and New Years Eve to rest before he had to skate out again.

The apartment was quiet enough, and the living room was empty, leaving Jack to flop onto the sofa and prop his feet up on the arm. His hip was aching fiercely, and his foot was trembling. He threw one arm over his eyes, and reached with the other hand for the remote. Flicking on ESPN, he kept the volume low, processing the highlights at the back of his head as the commentators speculated each teams’ chances at heading into the playoffs.

The Falconers were doing well this year, but they were sat at third. Jack wasn’t seeing the death of cup chances just yet but if he didn’t start focusing, he’d start to let his team down.

“Jack?”

Jack’s arm fell away from his face at the sound of the timid voice, and he glanced over to see Eric hovering near the table.

“Um. I just wanted to check to see if you needed anything.”

Jack pushed himself upright, taking his legs down, resting them on the table. “No. I’m alright. Are you…is your head okay?”

Eric nodded, and hesitated, but Jack jabbed his chin at the empty space, and eventually he sat. “The meds the doctor gave me are great. I also found my phone and checked in with the guys. No one’s back at the haus yet, but if you’re getting sick of me…”

“Eric,” Jack said tiredly. “Just plan to stay. Save us the stress of you worrying.” He didn’t mean for his words to sound as sharp as they did, and he sighed. “I’m sorry. My hip is hurt.”

“Your dad and I caught the check,” Eric said quietly. “Looked bad.”

“I’ve had worse,” Jack said with a shrug. “Just not very comfortable right now.”

Eric reached out, a quick gesture, squeezing his shoulder before letting his hand drop. “Do you want some tea or…I could whip something up? There’s plenty of stuff left from your mom. Latkes and some brisket.”

“Tea sounds okay,” Jack said, not really thinking. He was starting to get lost in the way the soft lamp glow reflected in Eric’s large eyes. It was…mesmerising, and he had to force himself to look away.

“You sit tight,” Eric said, and gave Jack’s knee a pat before rising. “I’ll get the tea and um. I have…a thing for you.”

Jack opened his mouth to ask what, but Eric was in the kitchen already. He heard the flick of the electric kettle come on, and mugs being taken out. Then the flash of Eric as he buzzed through the room, and back down the corridor.

Jack turned his attention back to the TV, trying not to wonder, trying not to enjoy just how damn domestic this felt, and how much he loved it. He grabbed his phone instead, and shot off a text to Kent.

**How are things? How’s Mama Mashkov?**

The reply was almost instant, which probably meant Kent was waiting round for something, and busy on twitter. _Better. Up and about, walking, talking. She’s a warrior._

**Give her a kiss from me. When are you two back?**

_’Lyosha wants to be back right after the NYE game, so sometime then. She’ll be able to fly before the wedding._

**Good.**

_How are things there? How’s ya boy?_

**He’s not a boy, and he’s not mine, and he’s fine. You could text him.**

_Concussion_

Right. Jack forgot. **Right. Well he’s fine, recovering. Saw the GP today who said he’s on schedule. Things are…nice.**

Kent sent a series of chirping emojis, and Jack sighed.

_True love, Jacky?_

**Please don’t. I feel…weird about this.**

_Call me later and we can talk. Alexei just got back and we’re going to grab food. Love you._

**Love you too**

Jack shoved his phone onto the table just as Eric walked into the room, a tea tray in his hands, and a brown paper gift sack dangling from his wrist. 

“Concerned fans?” he asked.

Jack rolled his eyes. “More like chirping Kenny. He says hi, by the way.” Which wasn’t entirely true, but Jack knew he would have if he’d thought about it.

“How’s Alexei’s mom?”

“Recovering,” Jack said, and accepted the tea Eric handed over. “She’ll make it for the wedding.”

Eric’s face lit up as though he was personally invested in her recovery, and Jack realised he probably was. For as close as he’d gotten with Eric, Eric had bonded faster and stronger with both Kent and Alexei. “That’s great. Lord, I was worried.” He sipped his tea, then shuffled the bag into the space between them. “This um. Is for you. Happy Chanukah. I was going to wait until New Years but…when you got hurt I thought it would be nice to um. Have now.”

“Eric,” Jack said carefully. “You didn’t have to. You know we don’t really do gifts.”

Eric’s cheeks flushed. “I know. And I almost just got you a sack full of chocolate coins but I don’t think your nutritionist or parents would like me much for it.”

That made Jack smile, and he shook his head as he pulled the bag toward him. His fingers hovered over the tissue paper, but he didn’t dig in. “I didn’t get you anything.”

Eric smiled. “I know. It was a spur of the moment thing and honestly y’all have done way too much, I don’t think I could take a gift from any of you in good conscience.” 

Jack bit his lip. He didn’t really like getting gifts from people. Like compliments, they made him feel awkward, like however he reacted, it wouldn’t be grateful enough, or thankful enough, and it all fell flat and robotic. But Eric’s smile was too bright, and just shy of chirpy which was why Jack eventually pulled the paper out, and dug in.

His fingers slipped into something soft, and plus, and when he pulled it out, his jaw actually dropped open. It was a cow. A soft, stuffed cow with doe-eyes and comically long lashes. “Is this…”

“Just think of it as the first addition to your dairy farm,” Eric said, and the way his face sat, Jack knew.

“Maman,” he said darkly.

Eric pushed his fingers against his lips, but a giggle escaped anyway. “She um. Told me.”

Jack’s entire face exploded white-hot with a blush. “That is the ultimate betrayal.”

“I thought it was sweet,” Eric said. He snatched up the cow and nuzzled it for a second. “I um. I have a bun, you know. A stuffed bun.”

Jack looked at Eric’s fingers which were digging nervously into the cow’s fabric. “I know. I saw.”

“He’s called Señor Bun and I’ve had him just about as long as I can remember. Right after my parents um…” He swallowed. “I cried a lot, you know, but he still kind of smelled like home? Like my old room and well…it helped, in a weird way. Like I hadn’t lost everything. And I know I’m chirping you about the story because Jack…that’s the darn cutest thing I think I’ve ever heard. But it’s also…I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having something to hug on if you’re feeling alone.” With that, he pushed the cow into Jack’s hands, and Jack took it, too overwhelmed to speak right away.

He let his fingers run over the fabric, bumpy in some places, stretched smooth in others, and the emotions he felt were almost too much. He looked at Eric, then hugged the cow to his chest. “Well…for hugging…it’s not the best but…it’s not the worst.”

“High praise,” Eric said dryly.

Jack laughed and nudged Eric with his knee. “It’s actually very nice, thank you. Although if you tell anyone about this, I will never forgive you.”

“Lord, like I’m gonna tell a bunch of famous NHL players that I got their captain a cow stuffie for Chanukah.” Eric shook his head.

Jack laughed, and eased back against the cushions, Eric following suit not long after. Their knees knocked together, thighs pressed just lightly into the space between them, and Jack held on to the cow a little tighter. They sat in silence, more comfortable than Jack had ever been in his life, and his eyes began to droop.

“You gotta name her.”

“Lierre,” he said sleepily.

“What’s that mean?” Eric asked, and leant into Jack, their shoulders pressed together as tightly as their thighs. His head fell against Jack, and Jack could feel his breathing slow.

“Ivy,” Jack said. “It’s French for Ivy. My favourite.”

“Ivy,” Eric said. “Lierre.” He reached out and put his hand on top of the cow, his fingers brushing against Jack’s, and he left it there. “Sweet. D’you think you’ll ever get a cow? I mean…I mean, what do you want to do once you retire?”

Jack hummed, and realised that for once the thought of retirement didn’t terrify him beyond all reason. His skin still prickled with the fear of losing the only thing he was good at but…he thought maybe he was kind of good at this, too. Being with Eric, just like this. “I spent a lot of years trying not to think of it. But a farm does sound nice.”

“Hard work,” Eric said softly. “Hard enough tending momma’s garden in summers. Farms are…” He trailed off, yawning, and when Jack turned his head just slightly, he could see Eric’s eyes drooping. He knew he should tell Eric to get up, to head back to bed, but he was feeling selfish, and soft, and wanting. He shifted closer, and Eric nuzzled against him with a tired hum. “Bet Montreal is nice. Though. For a cow.”

Jack laughed quietly as Eric’s hand slipped from the cow, to Jack’s hip, and rested there. Jack’s entire body went warm, and he fought the urge to tangle their fingers together. Eric’s breathing slowed even deeper. “Eric,” he finally brought himself to say. “You’re falling asleep.”

“Comfy,” Eric said.

Jack chuckled. “Yeah but you may regret this in the morning.”

“Doubt it,” Eric said. “Like you. Don’t want to move.”

“Then stretch out,” Jack said. He felt reckless and needy all at once, and when he shifted Eric, Eric didn’t panic. He didn’t run. He merely let Jack rearrange them so they could put their legs up against the arm of the couch, and nestle together.

Jack hadn’t done this since Kent. Since he was young and stupid and far meaner than the person he was today. And maybe for the first time he felt like he’d worked for this, and deserved it. When he tucked his arm round Eric, the shorter man only sighed.

“You sure?”

“Mm. Yeah,” Eric said. “If you are, Jack.”

By way of answer, Jack merely grabbed the afghan from the back of the sofa and tucked it over their legs. One long arm reached for the lamp, and the other flicked the TV off. Lierre was mashed between them now, and Eric’s face was pressed against Jack’s shoulder. It was a tight squeeze, and Jack doubted it would stay comfortable until morning.

But how could he care? How could he care when he got this. Even if it was only for one night. His eyes drifted, and his head turned to bury his nose in Eric’s hair, and with the gentle snores of the man tucked into his side, Jack let himself sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took ages. We had a lot going on for the first few nights of Chanukah, then I went to see Hockey, then I caught a cold so...this chapter could very well be shite, and I'm sorry for it.
> 
> Thank you for all the amazing comments, btw. I missed replying on the last chapter and I'll try to catch up. But just know they mean the world to me!
> 
> I know this fic isn't even really a sugar daddy AU (and I actually might write a proper Zimbits one with Sugar Daddy Jack at some point cos I do love the trope), but thanks for sticking with it anyway. One more chapter and an epilogue to go!

Eric woke curled up against the sofa cushion, his neck at an odd angle, and sweating from a patch of sun streaming in through the window. His head was a little foggy, his body aching with a migraine hangover, but he wasn’t in pain, and he was also very alone.

The space beside him on the sofa was cool, meaning whenever Jack had gotten up, it had been a while before. Eric felt a well of panic rise in his gut, but when he saw up, he saw Bob sat in the armchair with a cup of coffee.

“Um.”

Bob lifted a brow. “Alicia and I got in early this morning, and she went with Jack to his afternoon press conference.”

“Um.” Eric scrubbed his face. “We um…”

“Not my business,” Bob said, and leant forward. “But I think we should probably talk.”

Eric licked his lips, and felt something creeping up his spine akin to terror. He was about to be…booted, wasn’t he? Because he’d violated the agreement. He was supposed to watch out for Jack, and keep him company, not snuggle him all night. Not fuck with the dynamic they had going in the family.

Eric was not entirely surprised it was going downhill. He couldn’t even get his own parents to love him, why did he think he could keep someone like Bob around.

“You don’t have to…it’s fine. I’m…I didn’t even really spend much money,” Eric rose, “and whatever you spent on the doctor I can get back. I didn’t mean to…”

“Eric,” Bob said, and his voice was commanding enough to get Eric to calm down. “I’m…son, I’m not…” He floundered. “Please sit.”

Eric sank back down, and pressed his trembling hands between his knees. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t get his tongue to work, so he just did his best to meet Bob’s gaze.

“Do you like Jack?”

The question was so plain, so simple, but the complicated wave of emotions rushing through Eric was almost too much for him to handle. “I um.” He took a breath and reminded himself he was a damned adult and he would handle this like one. “Yes. I think so. I was trying not to…you know. Think too much about it. Because he didn’t seem to like me. But recently we’ve…” Eric let out a shaking sigh. “He’s warmed up. We were chatting last night, and we fell asleep. We didn’t…nothing happened. I don’t even know if he stayed all night.”

“He was there when Alicia and I came in,” Bob said. “He didn’t say much, and I didn’t ask him.”

Eric licked his lips. “I’m crossing a line.”

“I don’t think so,” Bob said softly. “But I think I can’t…I can’t ask you to fulfil a contract for finances if you and Jack are going to…attempt to make something work.”

Eric bowed his head. “I understand. I get it.”

“I can,” Bob said, “continue to make sure my son’s boyfriend is well taken care of.”

Eric’s head snapped up, and he was shaking it before he realised what a bad idea that might be. His vision swam for a second, but a few breaths cleared it. “We haven’t…we aren’t boyfriends. It was a sleep on the sofa, nothing more. Really. I don’t um. I don’t think Jack um. Wants that.”

Bob looked at him, then shrugged. “I’ll wait. But if something does happen, nothing’s going to change. Except the contract. I’m going to burn it.”

Eric let out a slightly hysterical laugh, but nodded and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Lord this was so…it’s a lot. It’s so much.”

“Why don’t you go and have a shower,” Bob suggested. “Jack wanted us to be at his game this afternoon. We can head over to the arena and watch practise, maybe chat with the boys a bit. Sound good?”

Eric nodded, then managed to escape straight into Jack’s room to take advantage of the shower. He paused only to see Jack’s pyjamas thrown on the end of the bed, and the stuffed cow resting neatly, and snugly, between his two pillows.

Eric felt his heart fit to burst in his chest, and it took several calming breaths before he could go about his business. He wished desperately he’d been cleared for screens, because this was the time he could use the group text. Eric had no idea what he was getting himself into, and he had no idea how it was all going to end.

*** 

Press had gone well enough, as it usually did. He dealt with questions speculating on his team’s chances, on the All-Stars weekend, and on Mashkov’s return to the ice the moment he was back. He parted with his mom after that, who was having an early brunch with George, and he slipped into the gym to run off his nervous energy.

Jack had been keyed up since he’d woken that morning with the sun rising, and his arms tightly round Eric Bittle’s waist. He remembered making the choice to sleep there, to let Eric nestle into his side. He remembered tugging the little cow between them, fighting off the overwhelming feeling of sentiment at the gift, and wanting to just…to just kiss Eric right there and be done with it.

Jack wasn’t used to having feelings like this. He wasn’t used to wanting so damn much, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. With Kent, it had been easy. Kent had been more than willing to take the lead, with their kissing, their teenage fumbling behind closet doors. Jack hadn’t really needed to try, and when it got bad, it went as badly as it could go, and it took a long time for things to right themselves again.

Jack had almost no experience with trying to make something like this work.

With Camilla it had been easy. She was straightforward, open with what she wanted. She saw him, liked him, asked him out, then broke things off.

Relationships had always been held on their terms. And now there was Eric. Who seemed afraid, hesitant, and Jack couldn’t blame him. He’d been unkind and closed off, and what Eric had going on with Bob made things even more complicated.

Jack felt lost, and confused, and he wanted to take the next step but he had no idea how.

So for now, he ran. He set the treadmill to high, and turned up his running music, and he ran and tried to stop feeling the echoes of Eric’s skin against his own. He tried to stop feeling the ghost of Eric’s breath against his neck, or the way waking up to him like that had felt so, so, incredibly right.

*** 

They arrived at the arena long before the game. Eric had been to a few games before, but never like this. Never let into the back car park, never escorted into the arena by a famous Hockey Legend.

The boys were practising on the ice, most of them in full pads, but almost none of them wearing helmets or mouth guards. Eric’s eyes immediately trained on Jack who was shooting pucks at the goalie who was the only one with a mask on. He was getting shot after shot glove-side, and Eric couldn’t make out the words of the other Falconers, but he could hear the chirping tones, and the laughter.

Bob led Eric to the benches, and slid the door open. Eric’s heart began to thrum, and he wished desperately for his phone, just to prove he was here. He was friends with people in the NHL. Jack Laurent Zimmermann coached Eric through his checking fear and helped him with his only ice time. And believed he was a good player.

“Yo, Cap! Visitors!”

Eric wasn’t sure who called that out, but he saw Jack look over, and tried his best to pretend like he didn’t see a slow flush creep up over Jack’s cheeks as he saw Eric and Bob. Luckily the moment was interrupted by Snowy coming out of the net, and throwing his mask and gloves aside.

“Hell yes! Did you bring baked goods?” Snowy called, shoving past Jack, and crashing into the wall in front of the bench.

Eric laughed. “Uh. No, sorry.”

“Eric’s been on bed-rest since the concussion.”

“Shit man, we heard,” Snowy said, shaking his head back and forth. “Doing alright? You going to make your next game?”

Eric shrugged. “Maybe? I um…” Frankly the idea of getting back on the ice was more terrifying than before, but he didn’t want to say that in front of a bunch of NHL players. “Guess I’m just waiting to see what the doctors say.”

“Well we can’t wait til you can bake for us again.”

“I see why y’all keep me around,” Eric chirped. “Your nutritionist is going to hate me.”

“Like we give a fuck,” Snowy said, then winked and turned back as Jack skated up.

“Sorry, he’s an asshole,” Jack said, and Eric laughed in spite of himself. 

It was almost impossible for Eric to let go of the anxious, swooping feeling in his gut when he looked at Jack. Even in his pads, covering most of his body, Eric knew exactly where Jack was softest, warmest. He knew the feeling of a warm arm tucked around him, and the gentle breathing across his temple, and ghosting through his hair.

It was so much, and his head was spinning with it. “Um. Don’t um…let us keep you,” Eric said.

Jack shrugged, glancing back at the team. “We’re almost finished. I’m going to take a cold tub before the game. My hip’s bothering me.”

At that, Bob frowned and said something in rapid French which Eric couldn’t hope to understand, but whatever it was, it made Jack’s ears turn red, and his head shake. Bob sighed. “Jack,” he implored.

“Papa,” Jack replied, then gave as good as Bob until Bob had his hands up in surrender.

“Fine,” he said. “But don’t come complaining to me when…”

“Papa,” Jack said, his jaw tense.

Bob shrugged and thumped back against the bench, Eric saying nothing until Jack skated away.

“Um. Is he okay or…?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Bob replied with a tiny sigh. “I can’t help it. He’s my son and I worry. I remember too well what it was like, to feel your body slowly falling apart, knowing you only had so long until it gave up on you. He doesn’t want to hear it. _I_ didn’t want to hear it when I was his age. But then Jack was born and things were…different.”

Eric looked at him. “Different?”

Bob smiled. “Alicia was always more important than hockey, but she never made me worry about it, you know? Her career kept her busy, and we just made it work. But when Jack was born, I couldn’t stop thinking about the what-ifs. Feeling the terror of my boy growing up alone if I wasn’t careful enough. I wanted to be well enough, strong enough to be a good father. I could have gone a few more years, but Jack was already struggling and I couldn’t…I couldn’t let it take up any more of my time. If I’d retired early maybe…maybe he wouldn’t have…”

Eric saw the pain in his eyes, and reached over, laying his hand on top of Bob’s. “It wasn’t you. It was a lot of things, but it wasn’t you. Trust me. Jack knows.”

Bob swallowed thickly, but he nodded. “As much as Jack worries he’ll never live up to me, I worry I’ll never live up to him—to the father I should have been. Present,” he added. “But I’m still trying.”

“He knows,” Eric said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re both lucky.”

Bob blinked, then offered a watery smile. “I’m sorry, Eric. I shouldn’t…with what you’ve been through, I shouldn’t say this sort of thing.”

Eric shook his head. “My problems are my own. Don’t make yours less.”

With a sigh, Bob rose and beckoned Eric up. “Come on. I bet they have some decent food up in the VIP box. We can sit there until the game starts, eh?” And without letting Eric protest, Bob dragged him up and away.

*** 

The game itself was amazing. Eric had never been so close to the ice. It was hard at moments, seeing the players get checked. His anxiety was flaring, but Bob and Alicia were on either side of him, reaching out when Eric seemed to be shaking a little too hard.

But the Falconers took an easy lead right from the beginning, and the game was fairly clean. Both teams were determined, but not scrappy, and into the second period, there hadn’t been penalties or fights.

Then…it all flipped. Two minutes into the third period, Eric saw it. Jack was bent over for the face-off, looking stoic as he always did, but something shifted. Behind his visor, Eric could see his eyes widen, his shoulders go tense. Whatever had been said, it was ugly.

It was obvious Jack was trying to ignore it, but the guy wouldn’t stop coming for Jack. He was bigger, by at least a stone, and a few inches taller even on his skates. Jack was attempting to get past him, but his hip had him a little slower than normal that night, and that was his weakness.

Jack managed to pass the puck to Guy, but a second later, he was smashed into the boards. Eric swore he could hear Jack’s body hitting the ice.

There was a second when no one noticed, but then one of the linesman saw Jack laying there, not moving. Eric was on his feet, along with Bob, the older man’s hand gripping Eric’s shoulder like a vice. Eric didn’t notice anything, not the whistle, not the roar of the crowd.

Thirdy was first over, and was crouched down, talking to Jack who was attempting to sit up. He’d spat out his mouth guard and was grimacing, and after a moment, was on his feet. But it was clear he wasn’t going to be playing again. He favoured his left leg almost to the point of putting no weight on his right, and he had to hold Thirdy the entire way back to the bench.

Jack managed a grimace at his dad as he passed, his skates keeping him wobbly as he headed through the tunnel, and then he was gone.

“Do you think…?” Eric started.

“I’m going to check on him, see if we need to get him to the hospital,” Bob said. With that, he was brushing past Eric and Alicia, and he was gone.

“Should we go or something? Do you think he’s really hurt?”

Alicia looked worried, but she put an arm around Eric and squeezed him. “He’ll be fine. Trust me, Jack’s suffered worse. His hip’s been playing up all season, I’m not surprised that took him down.”

“But he won’t like…this won’t be serious, right?”

Alicia sighed. “We can never be sure. Not until the trainer checks him out. Bob will let us know. He frets, and I let him. I’ll just worry if there’s need.”

Eric nodded, and he turned his attention back to the game, which seemed strange now without their Captain. But the guys seemed determined to do Jack proud. Eric’s phone remained silent, but he told himself no news was good news, and in the end, the Falconers took the win 4-1, and Thirty got first star for the final goal.

Just as the horn blew, Alicia was on her feet, and she grabbed Eric’s hand. “It’ll be a mad rush, but Bob said we can head into the trainer’s room. Jack’s there, and he’s okay.”

Eric let out a breath, some tension bleeding from his shoulder, and she let Alicia navigate through the crowd, past the security guards, and down a quiet tunnel. Eric could hear far-off voices from the locker room, but they bypassed all that until they reached a heavy door, and beyond that a room with a couple of exam tables, Jack on one looking put out.

“Well?” Alicia demanded.

“Just strained,” Jack said. “Both hip and back. Week of rest, but we only have one other game on Tuesday so I won’t be missing much.”

She sighed, just as Eric let himself feel a flood of relief, and he watched as she bent over and kissed his forehead. He knew what that was like now, her affection, and it made his chest burn. It had been so long since he was around parents who cared, and it was just…a lot. And welcome. Even if it hurt a little bit knowing none of this was really his.

But it warmed him to see Jack comforted. It warmed him to see the soft grin on his face which he tried to hide, and failed, as his mother fussed.

Soon enough, though, he was sat up and struggling with his shoes until Eric scoffed and snatched them from Jack’s fingers. “Lord have mercy just let me.”

Jack made a noise of protest, but Eric ignored him in favour of slipping them on and tying them up. He ignored Bob’s pointed look, and when they were done, he extended a hand for Jack to hop off the table.

“Okay,” Bob said, looping an arm round Jack’s middle. “Let’s get out of here, eh? Your mother and I will cook for the two of you.”

Jack sighed, but it was obvious Bob would allow no argument in the matter. Eric was feeling a little tired from the excitement, his concussion still making itself known, and he was grateful for the reprieve. The afternoon game had extended into the early evening, but traffic wasn’t too bad, and they’d get back to Jack’s before the New Year madness began.

It wasn’t the worst way to ring in the holiday, Eric decided, as he slipped into the car beside Jack. He felt Jack’s knee press against his, and looked over, getting a smile in return.

No, he could definitely think of far less pleasant ways to bring in 2017.

*** 

Jack took a muscle relaxer, and allowed himself a long shower and a nap as Bob and Alicia handled the dinner. Jack was hesitant until Eric had excused himself for a rest, and Jack found himself curled up on his bed, clutching his new cow in the spot where, the night before, Eric had rested.

Jack could still feel him. He could feel how warm Eric got, he could hear the quiet murmurs of his noisy sleep. He could feel the way Eric shifted, and Jack shifted with him, like they’d always meant to be like that. Together. Soft. Perfect.

His fingers were shaking as he picked up his phone and texted Kent. **Get back soon. I don’t think I can do this.**

_I’m pretty sure you’re talking about Bits, and dude unless you want me to chirp you to the grave, fucking get a spine and just tell him you like him._

**It feels wrong. Him and my dad, you know?**

_So talk to papa about it. Prrrretty sure he’d rather have his son happy and getting his dick sucked at regular intervals than some stupid fucking sugar baby contract._

**You’re going to hell.**

_Neither of us believe in hell, Zimms. I’ll see you in two days. Lyosha says get your shit together or he’s gonna steal Eric for the two of us. And I’m not gonna say no._

Jack threw his phone on the bed and decided to just leave it there for the rest of the night. Kent was right on one count though—Bob would much rather Eric and Jack be happy than the whole strange, financial contract. But it seemed unfair. It seemed unfair to put everything at risk just because Jack had a crush. And he had no way to be sure Eric would want to risk it. Jack knew Bob was Eric’s only hope, and Jack also knew Bob wouldn’t leave Eric hanging out to dry because Jack had a crush. But it was more complicated than just asking Eric on a date.

The stress of it was making his head hurt, and his back was killing him.

He rose, stretched, and ventured into the living room where Bob was sat by himself, the rest of the house quiet.

“Where’s maman?” Jack asked, slipping into French.

Bob glanced up, then thumbed back toward the door. “She and Eric ran out for a few supplies. Sparkling cider since neither of you boys should be drinking with your meds.”

Jack scowled, but Bob wasn’t wrong. He’d just never really been one for New Years toasts or celebrations. Frankly the only real New Year he celebrated was Rosh Hashanah and that was only because his parents bothered him about it. But having his parents here seemed to make a difference. And Jack briefly let himself think about kissing Eric at midnight, and it made his chest feel hot.

“Jack?” Bob asked.

Jack scrubbed a hand down his face, then sank to the sofa cushions. “I think I like Eric.” Bob said nothing, raising a brow as if to say, ‘And?’ and Jack rolled his eyes. “Clearly you know.”

Bob laughed. “You two were sleeping together last night. It was…a little obvious.”

Jack huffed, but he couldn’t exactly deny it. Jack didn’t like people often, platonic or otherwise. He wasn’t Kent, prone to being found splayed bodily on top of his teammates for no reason other than he felt like a cuddle. He couldn’t deny the night before had been significant.

“It’s…not appropriate. I know. With you and Eric…”

“I’ve spoken to him about the possibility,” Bob said.

“Papa!” Jack groaned, his whole face bright red now.

Bob huffed. “Mon fils. When I find you snuggling another man on the sofa, I’m not going to pretend like I saw nothing. I spoke to him and I told him if the pair of you decide to…become an item…” He cleared his throat and shrugged. “We’ll come to other arrangements.”

Jack felt weird about Eric and his father talking about this first, before Jack could even express to Eric how he felt. But…he supposed that the circumstances were strange and there was no real getting around that. “Fine I…I just…” He huffed. “Promise me you’ll leave it be until I have a chance to talk to him.”

Bob crossed over his heart, and laughed when Jack rolled his eyes again. “Your mother and I will probably turn in early, give you boys a chance to talk things out.”

Jack felt mortified again, but it was what he was hoping for. So.

“I like him,” he said, very softly.

Bob’s grin was wide and sunny, and he leant forward, just long enough to clasp Jack’s knee. “Good. I was hoping you might.”

*** 

Eric glanced at the clock on the bookshelf, then at the coffee table still full of food he and Jack had nibbled on. It was ten til midnight. Bob and Alicia had gone to bed, and Jack was propped up on the sofa, looking sleepy but determined to see the new year in. He was grimacing, though, had been for the last half hour. Presently he had one hand wedged between his back and the sofa, and he was twisted into an awkward position.

“Okay,” Eric said with a small huff. “I literally cannot take it anymore. Sit up.”

Jack stared at him. “Sorry?”

“Sit up. I can’t watch you in agony like that.” Eric hopped up and stormed into Jack’s bathroom, rummaging round until he found a bottle of passable lotion. It was scent-free, but looked new enough, and it was going to give him something to do other than sit there and think about his growing feelings for Jack, and everything Bob said.

And it was a good excuse to get his hands back on the expanse of Jack’s skin, which he’d been craving since waking up alone that morning.

He was terrible, he knew. But it was the new year and he couldn’t bring himself to care much.

When he got back to the living room, Jack was half sat up, and frowning, and he didn’t say anything when Eric wedged himself behind Jack. He let out a small noise of surprise when Eric hoisted the back of his shirt up, though, and craned his neck back.

“Is this okay?” Eric asked, his voice slightly breathless. “It’s just…you’re in pain. I want to do something.”

Jack’s jaw worked, like he was trying to speak, and after clearing his throat he said, “Ouias. Yes. If you want.”

“I want,” Eric murmured, and didn’t miss the way Jack jumped under his fingers. But he decided not to pay it any attention as he poured lotion onto his hands, then went to work on Jack’s aching muscle.

Jack was stiff at first, but as Eric dug his fingers in and really worked him, he let out a soft sigh and leant forward over his knees, giving Eric better access. “You could replace our trainer,” Jack said quietly, then groaned and arched back into Eric’s hands as he found a particularly sore spot. “Though I think Snowy might kill you.”

Eric laughed, easing up the pressure a bit, smoothing the tips of his fingers through dips and grooves of stretch marks. He loved the way they felt under his hands, like tactile art. He was almost overwhelmed with how beautiful Jack was, how everything on him seemed just…perfect. He took a breath, then swallowed. “While this is nice, I don’t think I’d want to spend every day working on whiny hockey players.”

Jack scoffed. “We don’t whine.”

“Jack…I’m on a hockey team. Y’all whine.”

Rolling his eyes, Jack nudged back into Eric for a second, and when Eric’s hands stilled, he turned his head back. “Please don’t stop. Um. I mean, unless you’re tired but…”

Eric immediately went back to work, and tried not to stare at the faint blush colouring the tops of Jack’s cheeks. Lord, he wanted this man. He wanted to hold him, he wanted to be held, be kissed. He wanted his first time to be…to be this. No vomit on his shoes, no laughter, no chirping. Just a man who saw Eric for who he was and wanted him that way.

He closed his eyes as he heard the volume on the TV rise, and he realised the countdown was about to begin.

“Eric,” Jack said very softly.

_“Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven…_

Jack turned as Eric pulled his hands away, but he wasn’t allowed to get far. Jack’s fingers tangled with his. “Eric I want…can I…”

_“Six. Five. Four.”_

“Jack. I…yes. Um.” Eric swallowed and got a head rush when Jack crowded right into his space. His hands left Eric’s, only to find his cheeks, cupping them, his massive thumbs brushing along Eric’s cheekbones. “This is…I’ve never…”

_“Three. Two.”_

“Okay,” Jack whispered. “Okay.”

_“One.”_

Jack’s mouth descended on his, slow and easy, soft and sweet. Nothing like the hurried desperation Eric thought it would be like. It wasn’t raw want, a kiss born of hysteria like he read about in books, or watched in films. This was gentle hands on his face, dancing lips guiding him through it. A soft brush of tongue leading the way, hot like fire, but soothing and comforting. Eric’s entire body was flush with heat, and it took him a moment to figure out what to do with his hands.

He clutched the front of Jack’s t-shirt, and somewhere in the background he heard poppers and roman candles, and people shouting, “Happy New Year!”

His entire body felt like that celebration shrunk down, and under his skin. Even his fingertips tingled. Jack pulled away once, twice, three times, but never let go. Eric’s eyes had closed at some point, but he opened them again to see Jack, with his big, sleepy blues, watching him.

“Was that…?” Eric breathed.

Jack laughed, a low, husky chuckle, and he pushed his forehead against Eric’s. “It was.”

Eric didn’t need him to clarify. It was written on his face. It was good. It was great. It was everything. It was so much Eric was afraid to let go, and when he tried to loosen the grip on Jack, the other man tugged him back. 

They didn’t kiss on the mouth again, but Jack dipped his head low and pressed warm, soft lips to Eric’s pulse-point and just held them there. He breathed out, hot against Eric’s skin, for so long, Eric thought he might lose himself.

Then Jack pulled away, and Eric felt the space between them like an icy cold rush. Jack’s hands were in his own lap now, and he was staring down at his feet.

“Um.” Eric was all-but tackled by fear. What if Jack regretted it? What if it had been bad? What if…

“Do you want to come to bed with me?”

Eric sat, stunned, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. When Jack looked up, his eyes were alight with worry and hope and hesitation.

“Not for…I mean. Just. Last night was good. Holding you, being held. I liked it. Just that, for now?”

Eric swallowed and decided that yes, this was good, and he wanted this. He could have this. He stood up, acting bolder than he felt inside, but when he extended a hand and Jack took it, he felt strong. Their fingers stayed tangled together as they made their way to Jack’s bedroom.

It was chilly, a crack in the window which Jack closed. Eric stood, a little hesitant until Jack pulled the duvet back, and waited for Eric to climb in. The sheets were soft and cold until Jack’s body joined him, and then everything was so warm. Eric was profoundly aware of every place on Jack’s body that touched his own. Toes, knees, a hand on Eric’s hip. Jack shifted, and tucked Eric close against him, chest to chest. His hand drifted into Eric’s hair, and then Jack leant down and brushed his lips across Eric’s temple, across his cheek, his nose, his lower lip.

Eric let out a shaking breath before reaching up, cupping Jack’s face, drawing him down for a deeper kiss. Their tongues met, sliding together soft and warm, and Eric let out a tiny moan which Jack caught inside his mouth. Eric was taut and tense with want, but he was content with just this. For now. And Jack seemed to feel the same.

His hand curled tighter along Eric’s hip, and his head dipped low, nosing through Eric’s hair. “Bitty,” he breathed, and Eric felt the word shoot down his spine. “I like you.”

Eric laughed, in spite of himself. “That’s…good, Jack. After all that kissin’, I hoped you might.”

Jack huffed, but Eric could feel the curve of his smile, the shake of his head. “I do. And um…I hope um…”

“I like you, too,” Eric said, and tugged Jack even closer.

“This might be…complicated. I don’t want to come between what you and my dad have. I know it’s important to you, and I know you’re…I know what it means to you so…”

“It is,” Eric said. “It’s important, but so are you. And I don’t think your dad’s gonna make me choose but if he does well…I’ve already decided. I decided days ago.” It was true. Even though Eric hadn’t really thought it was a possibility, he knew that there was no choice, no contest. “I choose you, Jack.” He said it, just in case.

Jack went stiff, then melted against Eric and pressed several small kissed to the top of his hair. “Okay,” he breathed.

Eric hummed, and burrowed in Jack’s arms, and closed his eyes. “We should sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

“Okay,” Jack said again. He reached back with one, absurdly long arm, and flicked the lamp off. The room plunged into darkness, and it wrapped around them like a warm blanket.

Eric felt his body relax. In the background of the city, he could hear the celebrations, and he almost laughed because he didn’t think he’d ever want that. Not when he could have this. These arms, this mouth pressing against his temple, this soft breath like a lullaby.

Life wasn’t ever going to be easy, but maybe, he thought, maybe it would get so much better.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Discussions of Bitty's parents, him being kicked out, mild homophobia.
> 
> Well this is the last official chapter. The next will be an epilogue of sorts, with Kent's wedding and a trip to Bob and Alicia's home. I know I've been slacking on comment replies, but your comments mean everything, and I'm so, profoundly grateful. Thank you so much!! Every single one of you is amazing. <3

Eric woke feeling strange. Not bad strange, but different strange. He knew where he was, he knew why he was there. He knew what the warm, heavy weight was lying across his stomach. His heart began pounding almost immediately, and his eyelids fluttered, though he didn’t open them just yet.

He could tell by the way Jack’s arm was around him, by the way Jack was breathing, he was awake. Jack’s fingers were drawing gentle lines along Eric’s ribs, the pressure not enough to have woken him, but not light enough to tickle.

Gathering himself, he dared to turn over, to open his eyes and look at the man he’d fallen so hard for. Eric Richard Bittle was a brave man, but this took courage he didn’t think he’d ever have. Because he could open his eyes and see hesitation, or regret. He could open his eyes and be let down—however gently Jack wanted to do it, and it would devastate him.

Eric didn’t fall often, but he fell hard. And now was no different.

He swallowed and felt a thrill running up his spine, and finally let himself look.

Jack was there, his face relaxed, passive, eyes heavy-lidded and almost sad in a way—though that was just Jack, as Eric was coming to learn. His mouth was set in a straight line, his full lips parted just a little. He was tracing the lines of Eric’s face with his gaze, and when Eric finally looked at him, Jack’s expression didn’t change.

Their eyes locked though, long enough for Eric to get a little antsy, and he took a breath. “Morning,” he murmured. His voice was still hoarse, sleep-thick and tense.

The corners of Jack’s mouth quirked up, just for a second. “Good morning.”

They stared again, for a while. Jack’s fingers trailed up Eric’s ribs, tracing his collarbone which was peeking out from the loose neck of his shirt. They moved up, ghosting lightly over his throat, along the cut of his jaw, stopping just below his ear to rest where, perhaps, he could feel Eric’s rapidly thrumming pulse.

“Jack,” Eric said, a little breathless, “what are you thinking?” He wanted to know. He needed to know if Jack was feeling regret or…

“You’re gorgeous,” Jack said. He said it simply, like it was just a known fact of the universe, like it was something everyone should know.

But it hit Eric like a freight train. His entire body jolted with the shock of it, because well…because no one had ever said anything like that. No one had ever really looked at Eric like he was worth something. His teammates, everyone who lived in the haus loved Eric for who he was. Eric felt worthy, but he’d never really felt wanted.

The way Jack was looking at him now though…

“Are you…was that okay?” Jack asked, and for the first time that morning Eric saw uncertainty in his face.

“Do you mean it?” Eric asked.

Jack blinked in surprise, then said, “Of course I do. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

Again, so matter-of-fact. Like Jack just meant it, and Eric wasn’t entirely used to that. To someone wanting him, to just knowing it and accepting it. He swallowed thickly, and almost flinched when Jack’s hand drifted up to cup his cheek.

“You like me, right?”

Eric stared, then laughed, because he didn’t exactly know what else to do. “Lord Jack I…of course I do. I’ve…oh for a while now I’ve liked you. So much, but I never thought…” They’d talked this out last night, at least a little, but the emotions felt heavy and raw, like weights around wrists and ankles. Jack’s hand on his face was like a ballast, grounding him, keeping him present. “Jack,” he breathed.

The tension in Jack’s face melted into a smile, and he leant his head in, kissing Eric soft and sweet. It wasn’t too deep, it was early in the morning and no one had scrubbed their teeth, but the warmth of it was enough to send Eric’s head into a spin, and he grabbed onto Jack’s front, fingers curled into his shirt.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that,” he murmured.

Jack grinned, nosing along Eric’s cheeks, pressing kisses whenever his lips were close enough to skin. Eric shuffled, falling into Jack’s embrace, letting his head rest in the centre of Jack’s chest. “You don’t need to, I don’t think,” Jack said. His fingers trailed up Eric’s back, the tips counting along the knobs of his spine. “I wouldn’t mind if it felt like this all the time.”

“Terrifying?” Eric asked with a tense laugh.

“Mm,” Jack said. “Thrilling? Warm?”

Eric swallowed and for a moment just let himself believe he got to have this. Jack wanted him, and this was his, and whatever else there was, they’d deal with it. He wanted to ask a thousand questions, too. ‘What are we?’ ‘Where is this going?’ ‘What do you want with me?’

But Jack was holding on tight enough that it didn’t matter just then.

“I have to pick up Kenny and Tater from the airport,” Jack said after some time. “Why don’t we get breakfast on the way?”

Eric pulled back, blinking. “You want me to come with?”

Jack frowned, then laughed. “I…yes? Did you want to stay? Is your head bothering you?”

Eric shook his head quickly. “No, no. Not at all it’s not that. I’m just…” He bit his lip. “Hah, it’s only just…it was a struggle for you to spend ten minutes talking to me before.”

Jack’s cheeks flushed and he glanced away, still holding Eric tight. “I’m not used to wanting people. With Camilla it was…sort of out of my hands, I guess? She wanted to date me, and we dated. Then she wanted it to end, and it ended.”

“Did you even like her?” Eric asked. He toyed with a loose thread on the hem of Jack’s shirt, and listened to the thump thump of his heart beating.

Jack hummed. “I did. I still like her. She’s nice, and always meant well. But it didn’t feel like this,” he said, and let the pads of his fingers rest on the bare skin at Eric’s nape. “I don’t think she felt that way either. And the only other time it ever came close was with Kenny but I was a mess back then.”

“Do you ever miss that?” Eric asked. “Or I guess…miss the chance you didn’t get to make it right?”

“I think I did. Once,” Jack said honestly. He dipped his head low and kissed Eric on the forehead. “But that passed long before I met you.” His lips trailed down from Eric’s forehead, to his cheeks, to the corner of his mouth. “Eric,” Jack breathed. “Eric, can I kiss you?”

Eric’s mouth felt disgusting, and he didn’t imagine Jack’s was better, but he wasn’t sure there was a reason on the planet he would ever turn down a kiss from this man. So he tipped his head up and clutched Jack harder by his front, and nodded.

He was rewarded with a smile, soft and small, before Jack closed the distance between them. Their lips met, heavy and warm from sleep, Jack’s pushing and pulling at Eric’s until his mouth opened and let Jack in. His tongue was sour, but it didn’t seem to matter because the heat was all-encompassing, and Jack was cupping his face and drawing him closer.

Eric let out a small whimper, needy as his body went pliant. He could feel himself hardening in his pyjamas, but he ignored it. He wasn’t ready for that yet, to go that far. But Jack wasn’t pushing him, wasn’t taking it further than Eric was ready to go. He just drew the kiss out and out until Eric was dizzy and breathless.

Pulling away, their foreheads knocked together, and Jack was still grinning. “Have you ever smiled this much in your whole life?”

Jack laughed, nuzzling his nose up against Eric’s cheek. “When I won my first cup.”

“Anything that wasn’t hockey?” Eric chirped.

Jack pulled back slightly, his thumbs grazing along Eric’s cheekbones. “When Kenny and I were sixteen, we were on a roadie, and there was this little circus in this town we stopped at. We weren’t supposed to leave the team, but Kenny grabbed my hand and we snuck off. I knew we were going to be in trouble, and I was…I didn’t have a great time at first. But Kenny got tickets and we got on the pony ride. It was…ridiculous,” Jack said, chuckling a little. “There were all these little kids, you know? Three, four years old. Then there was me and Kent.”

“Oh my god,” Eric said with a snicker, trying to picture the pair of them—a couple of hockey player teens looking ridiculous on a tiny horse.

Jack snorted. “He got a little too excited and we got kicked off. But euh…there was a petting zoo. Mostly goats and chickens and stuff, but around the back they had this little calf. I guess Kenny had seen it from the bus, which was why he decided we should sneak away. We ended up missing the entire show, but I sat with the baby cow for nearly an hour before our coach finally found us.”

Eric felt a swell of affection for this man. For this man whose secrets and experiences had been all tucked away deep in his chest. He had to wonder how many people knew this story? Just Kent? Had Jack ever told a lover before? “Were you in trouble?”

Jack laughed, tucking Eric in close, nuzzling his hair. “So much trouble. We were scratched from the game—and we lost, and of course everyone blamed us. I felt terrible, but Kent was so unapologetic. He found me in the hotel room having an anxiety attack, and when it was over, he just laid down on top of me and whispered that he didn’t feel bad, that I deserved to smile like that every now and again.”

Eric sighed, pressing his face against Jack’s chest. “Do you ever miss what you had with him?”

Jack chuckled, low and quiet. “No.” Eric was startled by how simply Jack said it, like it was not even a consideration. “What we had then had good moments, but it wasn’t good for either one of us. And what we have now is so much better. We’re both happy.”

Eric tilted his head up as Jack dragged his fingers through Eric’s bed-mussed hair. “Are you? Happy I mean?”

Jack stared at him, eyes bright and shining. “Yes. I am.”

*** 

Jack was feeling antsy and uncomfortable as they waited by security for the plane. This thing with Eric was new, and new made Jack uncertain. He wanted it, though, so badly. He could still feel the phantom touches from Eric singing under his skin, as they spent their lazy morning in bed.

They got up with just enough time to gulp down a quick breakfast of leftovers before they had to hop in the car to grab Alexei and Kent from their flight. Kent was taking an extra two days before heading back to Vegas, but Alexei seemed over-eager to get back on the ice, and Jack didn’t blame him. Jack was out for a little while from his injury, and even the thought of missing a game or two was making him feel edgy.

His head was starting to go to an uncomfortable place when suddenly a warm hand closed round his wrist. Jack startled, then looked over at Eric’s face which was set in a soft grin. It was like he could tell Jack was starting to sink, and he shuffled closer until their elbows brushed together.

“This alright?” he asked.

Jack swore he’d never get tired of listening to the soft, southern accent curving round words. Jack wanted to fall asleep to it, wake up to it. He didn’t say any of that, of course. Jack knew how he was—when he fell, it was hard and fast, and he was all in which terrified people, and the thought of sending Eric running was…too much to consider. So he took a breath, and nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

He didn’t expect Eric to curl into him, though. Not in public like this. But he did. He fit his back right up against Jack’s front, and eased Jack’s arms round his waist. “Still okay?” Eric asked softly.

The warm weight of him was grounding, and Jack’s head stilled. His anxiety was still flaring, a quiet thrum up and down his spine, but with Eric there, it was dulled, muted into the background. He dipped his head and pushed his nose into Eric’s hair, feeling the cowlick tickle his cheek. “More than okay,” he murmured.

Eric let out a happy hum, and seemed content to stand there until the passengers finally began to file out. It was still twenty minutes before Jack finally laid eyes on Kent and Alexei, who looked ragged and exhausted, but he didn’t miss the way Kent’s mouth curved up into a smirk at the sight of Jack holding Eric like that.

They didn’t say anything about it, though. Kent merely yanked Jack away, hugging him, and whispering into his neck, “Finally.” And that was the end of it.

*** 

Eric shuffled out into the living room to find Kent sprawled on the sofa, half awake. He peered one blueish, greyish, greenish, brownish eye at Eric, then gave his thigh a pat. “Come cuddle me. Loysha and Jack just left and I’m feeling kinda gross from the flight.”

Eric hesitated for a second, but the invitation was too tempting. Bob and Alicia had flown back home for a few weeks, but Bob told him he’d be back for Eric’s return to the ice, and they would discuss Eric’s financial future during that weekend.

With a sigh, Eric dropped onto the sofa length-wise, and let his cheek rest against Kent’s thigh. Kent’s fingers pushed into his hair. The gesture was soothing, not intimate the way Jack made it, but it was nice all the same.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” Bitty murmured.

“Anything always,” Kent said.

He sighed, then shifted. “Erm. Bob he uh…he helped you out when you were younger, right? With Hockey and…stuff?”

Kent glanced down at Eric as Eric looked up. “He did. You mean like…with money?”

Eric scrubbed a hand down his face. “Jack and I are dating.”

Kent let out a laugh, sounding almost startled, and he shook his head. “Yeah, Bits. I kind of gathered that with all the snuggling and kissing and shit. I don’t really get what the issue is, here.”

“Bob said if Jack and I start dating, he wants to dissolve our agreement which, makes sense. I guess. Seems only right and fair. But he said he wants to make sure I’m still being taken care of like…like before. So I was wonderin’ um…”

“What he did for me?” Kent asked softly.

Eric nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kent shrugged. “Well, it was a little different, you know? Because I was a kid. He made sure Jack and I had plenty of spending money, he paid the fees for my billet, and my equipment and everything. Clothes when I needed them. Anything you’d do for your kid. I was a poor bastard, but lived the same as Jack when I was in the Q.”

Eric gnawed on his lower lip. “My parents gave me a weekly stipend before erm. You know.” He swallowed thickly. “Scholarship took care of my tuition and dorm fees. But the rest they helped out with. Well. For a while.”

Kent’s fingers stilled, the moved to his shoulder and squeezed. “He’ll do it without making it feel weird,” Kent assured him. “Bob doesn’t make people feel indebted. He makes them feel important.”

Eric felt his cheeks flush a little, because that was true. Not once had Bob made him feel like an obligation or a signature on a contract. He’d put Eric’s happiness first, along with Jack’s. Which had meant a lot. “I never thought something like this could happen to me.”

“What, becoming a sugar baby?”

Eric smacked Kent’s thigh. “Shut up. No. I mean…meeting someone like Bob. Who cares just for the sake of carin’. That doesn’t happen a lot where I’m from, however those people call themselves God-fearin’ and good Christians.”

Kent laughed, and when Eric glowered at him, he shrugged. “When you’re tired and stressed your accent is…strong.”

“Shut up,” Eric muttered.

“Nope,” Kent said, but he resumed brushing through Eric’s hair. “Bob taught me a lot about myself, and about other people. I wasn’t…very grateful at first, because I was an asshole. And things with Jack after his overdose were…tense. I had a hard time dealing with the guilt because I should have been better. But he didn’t give up on me. So when you say that, I get it. Like…probably more than anyone in the world.”

“Jack resents him,” Eric said softly, and he knew it was true. On some level, and Bob struggled with that every day.

“It’s not really either of their fault, but yeah. There’s a part of Jack that’s always going to feel a little fucked about who his dad is. You can’t change that.”

“I know,” Eric said quietly.

“You’re gonna try though, aren’t you?” Kent asked with a laugh.

Eric rolled his eyes, then let them drift closed. “I think what I’m gonna do is love them both best as I can, and hope for the best.”

He was nearly asleep when he heard Kent’s voice, drifting on the edge of his consciousness, fond and chirping, “You just said you love them, Bits.”

*** 

Jack tucked his hat down lower over his forehead as he followed Bob through the Faber corridor. They had their badges, which allowed them through the player areas, into the locker room—though Jack was trying not to distract Eric for the time being—and into their seats.

They were right behind the players bench, and Jack was feeling all nerves. The last time he’d seen Eric on the ice, he was checked and concussed, and although Jack was trying to be less superstitious these days, he knew if Eric was hurt again, he’d never show up to another game.

“Relax,” Bob said quietly in French. “It’s going to be fine.”

Jack looked sideways at his father as they sank into their seats. “I…know. I’m sure it is.”

Jack and Eric had been dating for a few months now, though their time together had been severely limited as the new semester got underway, and the season began heading into Playoffs. The Falconers were doing well, and surprising everyone, Samwell was headed straight into the Frozen Four. They were playing Yale tonight, and their chances were decent. Eric was on the third line, having done much better in practise—especially after Jack started showing up again.

It had been one, frozen morning in February when Jack did it again. Eric had been worrying himself sick all night, and Jack had just made the decision. He didn’t have a skate until that afternoon, so hopping in his car, grabbing coffee along the way, seemed simple enough.

He was let in by a tired, stressed looking Ransom who smirked at the sight of Jack, and led the way up the terrifyingly rickety stairs, to Eric’s door.

Jack knocked and knocked until the door opened, and a scowling face appeared in the crack. “Ransom I swear to all that is holy if you don’t…Jack!”

Jack smiled a little. “Morning, Bits.”

Eric’s cheeks went immediately flush and the door swung nearly off the hinges as Eric shoved it aside and launched himself at his boyfriend. Coffee was nearly spilt, but soon enough they were heading toward Faber, and back on the ice.

It took a while for Eric to stop fainting, but he got through it.

Now it was March and he was working hard, and he’d earnt his spot back on the line.

“He texted me earlier and said he actually took a full check in practise. Holster rammed him against the boards and he skated through,” Bob said, thumbing through his phone. “I told him that sounded a little dirty to be sending to his future father in law.”

“Papa,” Jack groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“How often do I get the chance to embarrass you?” Bob chirped.

Jack gave him an unimpressed stare. “Are we not counting literally every time ESPN corners you?”

Bob laughed and clapped Jack on the shoulder. The gesture was warm, familiar. It was softer than Jack had been with his father in years. Maybe ever. And it wasn’t all Eric’s doing, but it was some, and Jack was willing to give credit where credit was due. It was easy to be happy with Eric. It was easy to feel calm instead of like the walls were closing in on him.

“Jack!” Shitty’s voice rang through the glass, and Jack realised the players had entered the ice for warmups. Shitty was leant round the side, grinning. “You fucking French-Canadian beaut! Bits said he wasn’t sure you were going to make it in time.”

“We got in early,” Jack said, leaning over for a one-armed hug. He’d gotten closer to Eric’s teammates over the months they’d been dating, even attending a few parties at the Haus, though he was still half convinced it was going to fall down on them one of these days. But they were a good group of people. Jack could spend hours sat next to Lardo, saying nothing as he read, or watching tape on the Haus tv. He counted far too many evenings in the reading room with a half-dressed Shitty sucking on a joint, going off about gender-normative rewriting of ancient historical societies. He’d spent hours in the kitchen, watching Eric bake, Ransom and Holster discussing plays and games like they were old friends, not fans.

Twice now Eric had brought Chowder to practise with him, letting him fill in as back-up for fun. Except people were actually noticing, and Jack had heard whispers of scouts keeping an eye out on the Samwell goalie as the years went by.

It was nice. His family was expanding.

“You boys are going to do great tonight,” Bob was saying to Shitty, and now Holster who was leant against the railings.

They two extended fists, and Bob bumped them before they had to skate off.

Jack’s eyes turned to the ice, where he could make out Eric talking to Chowder, skating in gentle circles. His heart began to thump wildly in his chest as he watched Eric’s bright face, the way his head shook when he laughed, the sweet way he knocked against Chowder’s helmet for luck.

“Jack,” his dad said softly.

Jack turned, blushing at being caught. “Just thinking.”

“You want to tell me what about?”

Jack licked his lips and his first instinct was to say no, was to keep it to himself and not allow a moment of vulnerability. But he was trying to be better, trying to be a little different because he deserved to be open with Eric. “I love him. I think,” he added, then shook his head. “No. I know I do.”

Bob’s face went soft, eyes droopy the same way Jack’s did, and he sighed. “Have you told him yet?”

Jack shook his head, glancing over. “Not yet. I will.”

Bob clapped Jack on the knee and squeezed. “Don’t wait too long.”

Jack watched as Eric did a little spin, then a tiny jump, and the crowd near the goal cheered. He laughed and bit his lip. “I won’t,” he said after a second. And he meant it.

*** 

Eric didn’t even really mean to check the guy, and he wasn’t even sure he wanted to call it a check. It was barely a tap, but he could hear above the crowd two accented voices screaming, “THERE YOU GO NUMBER FIFTEEN!”

His face was blushing hot, but he laughed and glanced at both Bob and Jack and felt an intense swell of love. For Jack, for all that his boyfriend had opened up to him. And for Bob, who had stepped in when Eric thought he’d lost everything.

It was a lot. But it wasn’t too much.

The party after the game was intense. Bob had politely declined, in spite of the team’s begging, and left just after the arena cleared out. Jack waited in the corridor for Eric, who quickly showered and changed, and was met with several, small pecking kisses to his mouth as the team chirped and attempted to fine them.

Jack, with a huff, dug into his pocket and threw his wallet at Holster who cheered until he found it empty apart from a single credit card, and Jack’s driving licence.

Back at the haus, the party was well underway, and it carried on until Eric managed to corner Jack—who was being talked into a few selfies—and dragged him up the stairs, and into his room.

“I needed a minute,” Eric confessed, letting Jack crowed him back toward the bed. The laid down, Jack propped up over Eric, who quickly dug his fingers into the front of Jack’s shirt. “It gets kinda loud.”

Jack was staring, straight-faced and quiet. “You did amazing tonight,” he eventually said. His fingers reached up, tracing a line of freckles over Eric’s cheek, making him flush. “That check was beautiful.”

Eric laughed. “Oh honey that was hardly a check. Just a little tap.”

Jack shook his head. “You skated through everything, you got two assists, and you shoved a guy.”

Eric rolled his eyes, but brushed the tips of his fingers along Jack’s lips, then lifted his face up and Jack tiled his down. Their lips met, slow and easy, Jack’s hands curving down until they were cupping the round swell of Eric’s ass. His fingers dug in, the tips pressing into the line of his jeans, and Eric felt a little breathy, and warm all over.

“Jack,” he whispered against soft lips.

Jack blinked, then pulled back further. “Eric I…” He swallowed, and his face contorted, almost like he was in pain. Then he took a breath, and before Eric could ask what was wrong, he looked down and said, “I love you.”

It hit Eric, like a shock, a jolt straight to his heart, and for a moment he wasn’t even sure it was real. He and Jack hadn’t seen each other much over the last few months. They skyped and chatted, and they visited as much as they could. But they hadn’t gone beyond kisses like this, hadn’t gone beyond the occasional night where Eric or Jack could curl up in each other’s beds, only to hurry out early the next morning for practise or class, or a roadie.

And truth be told, Eric had always wondered if anyone could love him. The way his parents had so readily brushed him aside, the way they hadn’t even tried to understand him. The way dates wrote him off after less than an hour when learning Eric wanted more than just a quick, casual fuck in the stacks.

But Jack was here. He was present. His eyes were staring at Eric, almost nervous. Swallowing thickly, Eric’s hand drifted up, cupping Jack’s cheeks. “Sweetheart,” he breathed, and thought, but he knew. He’d known for a while. “I love you too.”

Jack looked startled, like he hadn’t expected it, but instead of saying anything, he just ducked his head down and kissed Eric until neither of them could breathe.

*** 

Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, Eric dropped the final box from Jack’s car, onto an empty bit of floor near the dining table, and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. But it was done, it was finished.

He hadn’t been sure what to expect on the trip to Georgia. Closure, maybe a confrontation. Bob had facilitated the communication, even though Eric had been in the room when Bob made the call. He could hear his mother’s wavering voice, and the tears, and he could hear his father’s gruff agreement.

“They won’t be there,” Bob said when he rang off. “They’ll leave a key under the mat.”

“I have…” He had started to say he still had a key, but realised his parents had probably changed the locks, and that hurt like a stab to the gut. He swallowed and nodded. “Okay.” His voice wavered, but didn’t break, even after Alicia’s warm arms came around him and hugged him tight.

“Mon lapin,” she said very softly. “We’ll be with you, okay?”

Eric nodded, and glanced at the end of the sofa where Jack sat, his face stony and tense. Eric knew Jack wasn’t angry at him, but it was hard to look at him like that. He never wanted to be the reason Jack looked like that. Ever. “I deserve my things,” he repeated, mostly to himself.

“You do. And we’ll be there.”

Eric wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted his parents to go back on their word and show up. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the whole thing to just be a damned mess, with yelling and shouting. Because there was a tiny part of him that hoped maybe—just maybe—his parents would look at him and see a happy, healthy person, one they helped raise, and realise their prejudices and bigotry were nothing more than a lie.

But none of that happened.

Eric’s things had been packed into neat boxes, stacked up near the stairs. The key had been left, as promised, and the house sat still and empty. Eric had a sudden, almost hysterical need to go through every room, to find anything and everything that once belonged to him that they might have missed.

But he didn’t let himself. Instead he let Jack hold him on the porch, and kiss him. He hoped their neighbours got an eyeful. He hoped he was the talk of church Sunday next.

They loaded up the boxes and as Bob’s truck bounced down the road, he didn’t look back.

Emptying it all into Jack’s condo though had been…a lot. Eric focused on the strain in his arms as he lifted one labelled ‘books.’ He listened to the quiet chirping between Alexei and Bob, and he heard the faint sounds of Alicia preparing a lunch for everyone.

He startled when warm arms came round him, and a soft mouth attached to the spot on his neck, just above his thrumming pulse. “Proud of you,” Jack murmured.

“For not falling apart?” Eric asked with a derisive snort.

Jack sighed. “For being brave enough to let yourself feel bad.”

Eric opened his mouth to argue, to tell Jack he was trying not to let himself feel anything, but maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe he was wearing his heart on his sleeve. Okay, so he hadn’t broken down in tears—not really. There had been no wailing, no gnashing of teeth. But he hadn’t tried to smile his way through it, either. It hurt, and he didn’t deny that.

Curling his hands round Jack’s where they rested low on his stomach, Eric nodded. “I love you, sweetheart.”

Jack smiled against his skin. “My parents are going to their hotel after we get things settled. Then maybe we can talk about this summer. And…maybe we can…spend time together.”

Eric almost laughed at how timid Jack was being. They’d yet to do more than a couple of mutual handjobs, but Eric was craving an intimacy with Jack he didn’t know how to ask for, and he had a feeling Jack wanted the same thing. Turning his face, he eased Jack into a kiss, and whispered against his lips, “Sounds good, honey.”

Jack smiled, and released him to help get the rest of the things sorted.

*** 

“I want,” Jack said, punctuating the statement with a kiss to Eric’s lower belly. The skin there was warm, a little sticky from their lovemaking, and he felt sated deep in his bones in a way he never had before. Eric was all-but glowing with it, the post haze of orgasm, the gentle tremble of his limbs as he came down from the high.

Eric’s hands searched, burying themselves in Jack’s hair. “You want?”

“You,” Jack said.

Eric laughed. “Sweetheart, you’ve now had me I think almost every way a man can have me. And I’m not sure I’m up for more.”

Jack huffed, biting against Eric’s hip before letting his cheeks rest against his boyfriend’s thigh. His fingers drifted, playing lazily with the soft, light coloured hair near his naval. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Eric said, and brushed along Jack’s ear. “I want you too. Lord, Jack, I love you so much.”

Jack turned his face up slightly, giving Eric the grin he was pretty sure his boyfriend had been going for. Eric’s cheeks, still mottled pink, went a little darker and a pleased grin spread across his mouth. “This summer, will you stay with me? I know you have the haus, but your classes are online, and I’d like you here.”

Eric hummed, pleased and tired. “I think that would be alright. I might need to get down for exams and things but…”

“You can use my car,” Jack said. “Anything you want. Everything.”

Eric laughed. Jack was all or nothing, and right now Eric really was _everything_. “Thank you, honey. We can talk more about it later. Right now you need sleep.”

It was true. Playoffs were going strong, and Jack would be facing the Schooners soon enough, for his next chance at the cup. It was a lot. But for the first time, the pressure didn’t feel like it was about to drown him.

“I’ll be here helpin’ Kenny with wedding stuff anyway,” Eric said sleepily, and dragged Jack up to their pillows. He arranged them carefully, the duvet at their waists, lights off, warm hands seeking, tugging, tangling together. “So I’ll be occupied after finals.”

“Mm.” Jack pressed his lips to Eric’s temple. “I want to win the cup,” Jack said quietly, his voice going slow with impending sleep. “I want to win the cup but…” He yawned, and Eric murmured against him. “But I want this more.”

There was silence, and a soft chuckle, then Eric said, “Well you just focus on that cup, baby. Cos you’ve already got me.”


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welllll here it is. The schmoopy, fluffy, totally grossly lovey end. I might write a few future one-shots in this universe at some point, Maybe some Patater POV or Bob and Alicia. Who knows. But it was so much fun to write this, and I hope you all liked it too! <3 xx

Jack’s stomach was tense, and he hadn’t felt pressure in his chest like this since he was playing for the cup. Only it wasn’t him, and it wasn’t the cup. It was Samwell, with Eric on the bench having just come off the ice. They were seconds away—nineteen, to be exact, from OT. Samwell had control of the puck, and Jack was pressed up against the glass, his eyes doing what they were trained to do—to watch the puck. 

Ransom had it first, then a pass to Holster. The only one slightly open was Nurse, who had a shot, but it was a bad one, glove-side. But Holster passed anyway, and Jack’s heart all-but stopped. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the entire Samwell team rising, gripping the edge of the bench, staring.

Nursey took the shot.

And it sailed in.

Four seconds left on the clock.

The game was 3-2. 

Samwell had won the Frozen Four.

Jack was screaming, Kent was on his side hugging and crying as though it was their own team, and Jack realised that in spite of everything, it was. In a way. It was Eric’s family, and had become his. And he had tears in his eyes, and Kent’s hands around him, and Eric was stumbling onto the ice with the rest of the team after the clock ticked down those final seconds.

Jack wouldn’t see him til after, but that didn’t matter. He waited for the rest of the team, in the corridor, as they eventually stumbled out of the locker rooms. They looked drunk on victory, and probably a little booze, and Jack was almost dizzy with want as he crowded Eric up against the wall and kissed him, kissed him, kissed him.

“That was amazing. I am so proud of you. My dad has already called twice,” Jack murmured against Eric’s mouth.

Eric laughed. “Darlin, I hardly did anything at all.”

“Two assists,” Jack said, which was true. The first two goals had belonged to Holster, with Eric’s assist. He cupped his cheek and dragged his lips over Eric’s freckles. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Eric said, and Jack beamed. “Guess you’re next. I’ll be cheerin’ you on.”

Jack wasn’t entirely sure about that. They were doing well. They’d be facing the Pens in the final game, going to seven. And if they won, they’d be facing the Sharks. If they lost well…

Jack sighed, kissing Eric instead of thinking about it just yet. Eric laughed as Jack’s playoff beard rubbed his face red, but he didn’t seem to mind. Eric’s fingers toyed with the bristly hair, then his fingers drifted down to Jack’s. 

“Come on. I have pies baked, and the haus is gonna be crawling with people who wanna meet you, Kenny, and Alexei. I promised I’d show y’all off.”

Jack was unceremoniously shoved to the side, and his boyfriend was wrapped in giant, Russian arms as Tater swung Bitty in a circle.

“Was best game! Good game! You come play in NHL now!”

Eric laughed, shoving Tater off so he could grab a hug from Kent. “Y’all don’t want me, trust me. But how about I make you pies and get that nutritionist all fired up?”

Kent laughed, kissing the top of Eric’s hair before passing him back off to Jack. “I think we’ll take it. But really, amazing job, Bits. I’ve never screamed so hard in my life.”

“Just promise you’ll hold me during the Falcs game,” Eric said as Jack wrapped him up in his long arms. Eric hummed and nuzzled backward as Kent grinned.

“Don’t worry, and if they lose—since neither of us can date losers—we’ll run away to Vegas and get married.”

Eric laughed. “Deal,” he said, even as Jack squeezed him with a quiet, “Hey!”

*** 

Eric understood now what Jack was talking about, his stomach cramping with anxiety and fear. The game was close, too close but the Pens were winning and there was only a minute thirty left on the clock. They were two goals ahead, and the Falcs had gone empty net in an attempt to grab a goal.

But Fleury was on point, and Eric was starting to feel that prickle of resignation in his gut as he turned his face to look at Kent. Kent looked back and sighed.

“It happens,” he said.

Eric shook his head. “I know. I know but he wanted to win so badly.”

Kent reached out, taking Eric’s hand in his. “Look, Jack hates losing, but it’s not the first time the team couldn’t quite get there. And the fucker has two cup rings, okay? It’ll sting, he’ll be kind of an ass, and then it’ll get better. When he remembers what he has to look forward to this summer, it’ll get better.”

“Me stayin’,” Eric said softly.

“Well, I meant my wedding,” Kent chirped, elbowing Eric lightly. “But that too.”

“Oh shut up,” Eric said, but he let Kent draw him into a one-armed hug as the time ticked down.

Jack was on the bench now, looking furious, eyes trained on the ice. His jaw was clenched, blue eyes icy and narrow. Eric hadn’t seen him look like that before, not even when Jack hated him, not even when Jack thought Eric was going after Bob’s money.

But he breathed, and reminded himself that Jack loved him. This was hockey, and disappointment, but it wasn’t the end of anything. It was going to be okay.

Eric let his fingers tangle with Kent’s as the clock ticked down. Tater had a shot on goal, and missed. The puck went off-side, and the line changed. Jack was on the ice, going for the puck, but there was thirty seconds on the clock.

It had happened before. Sid himself had made goals in less time.

But it wasn’t happening for the Falcs.

The clock ticked down, and there were no shots on goal, and the horn blew.

It was over.

They had lost.

It was an hour before Eric got to see Jack. Kent had dragged Eric to the VIP box for something to eat while the team did press, and though Eric’s stomach was twisted with frustration and disappointment, he managed a sandwich and half a fizzy drink before the door opened and Jack walked in.

Kent’s head snapped over, and he was on his feet, dragging Jack into a hug. “Zimms,” he said quietly. He kissed Jack’s cheek, holding him tight.

“Hey, Kenny,” Jack said. He was more sympathetic, Eric supposed, since Kent had also just gone through the disappointment of losing. Eric wasn’t sure Jack would be so receptive to him, so he stayed quiet, sat at the table. “Alexei’s at the car. Said he didn’t want to walk all the way up.”

Kent nodded, then turned back to Eric. “You two okay here?”

“I got my car,” Jack said, a little gruffly, and Eric flinched. He had the sudden, mad desire to ask Kent to wait, to be the buffer between them, because Eric had won his championship and Jack had lost his. But Kent was gone, and Jack and Eric were alone.

“Um,” Eric said softly.

After a second, Jack crossed the room in a few, long-legged strides, and sank into the chair next to Eric’s leg. He reached out, big arms, and soft hands, tugging Eric close, burying his face in his neck.

“Hey,” Eric said, pushing his fingers into Jack’s shower-wet hair.

“Hey,” Jack said, and huffed a laugh. “I was hoping to do better for you.”

“For me?” Eric asked, his eyes going wide with surprise. He pushed Jack backward and stared at him. “Honey, you did amazing. This whole season has been amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

Jack sighed, nodding, and pushed his face back against Eric’s shoulder. “I don’t like losing.”

“I know, baby,” Eric said, and brushed a kiss to Jack’s temple. “I’m still so proud.”

Jack sighed, then pulled back, cupping Eric’s face. “Kiss?”

With a tiny laugh, Eric tugged Jack in by the front of his shirt and said, “You never have to ask, sweetheart,” right before their lips met.

It was chaste, mostly, just the press of warm, closed lips. But it felt nice, grounding and connected, and Eric’s fingers tingled with want to just wrap Jack up and hold him until the pain and disappointment left.

“You wanna go home, sweetheart?”

Jack nodded, kissing Eric once more before rising and holding out his hand. Their fingers tangled together, and they filed out, using the back halls and corridors to avoid any press. The parking garage was almost empty as they stepped inside, the only sound the echoes of their shoes.

Jack slid into the car, taking a moment to breathe after switching on the engine, then he pulled out, the engine rumbling, and made their way back to his.

Just inside, Jack dropped his bag and crowded Eric up against the door. He cupped Eric’s face, thumbs dragging along cheekbones, eyes soft and sad, locked onto Eric’s. “Hi,” he said, in the same voice he’d greeted Eric with at the arena.

Eric curled his fingers round Jack’s wrists, pushing Jack’s grip on his face tighter. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Jack’s lips quirked up, his body soft and pliant as he pushed further into Eric’s space. Their hips met, both of them a little hard, hips moving and seeking each other out. “Today was the easiest loss I think I’ve ever experienced. And…and I know they won’t always be this way. I called my therapist tonight, because it was new. It was different and I wasn’t sure…” He took a breath. “I might get angrier next time, but all I could think about was that I still had you. That we had the wedding coming up, and the summer stretching out in front of us. I won’t get to share my cup day with you, but I will get to wake up next to you, and kiss you hello, and kiss you goodnight, and that felt…almost as good. Better, in a way.”

Eric felt a rush of affection surging in his chest, and he gripped Jack tighter. “Okay,” he said, because what were words? How did he make them? He was consumed with the way Jack was looking at him, and god…god he loved him so much. “Okay baby.”

Jack smiled, like it was the perfect answer, like he hadn’t been expecting anything else. His hands fell away from Eric’s face, only to grip him round the hips and lift him up. Eric yelped, and curled his thighs round Jack’s waist, and Jack made his way, slow and steady, to the bedroom.

It was slightly chilled, which felt nice against Eric’s flushed skin, and he groaned when his back hit the duvet at the end of Jack’s enormous bed. His head tilted upward, and his eyes fixed on the two stuffed animals knocked together on the pillows. His stuffed bun, and Jack’s cow. He looked to the right and saw one of his cardigans draped over a chair, and his pair of trainers tumbled together next to the closet door.

He wasn’t living here yet. This wasn’t home, but Jack had invited him in, and let him leave pieces of himself there. Half his things from Georgia were in boxes, stacked in Jack’s guest room, waiting to be unwrapped. It was going to hurt, but Eric realised he was going to share pieces of himself Jack didn’t know yet—pieces of himself Eric thought he might always leave behind in Georgia.

His hands gripped the top of Jack’s shoulders as Jack’s mouth sought out his favourite spot just under Eric’s ear. He nipped and sucked, light enough to avoid marks, but hard enough to make Eric squirm. With a gasp, Eric shifted until they were pressed together, rubbing through trousers. His face was burning hot, and he turned his head, seeking until his lips met Jack’s.

They kissed, a mixture of lazy and needy, and Jack soon had a hand between them, undoing buttons and zips, pushing and pulling until they were out, and pressed together, and rubbing off.

It didn’t take long for either of them. They were keyed up from the game, physically and emotionally. Jack tumbled over the edge first, gasping his orgasm into Eric’s neck, and the feel of Jack spilling over his stomach sent Eric right after.

They breathed hard together, Eric stroking his fingers lightly over Jack’s back until he moved up to fetch a wet flannel for the mess. A shower would have been better, but it was late, and they were exhausted, and Eric wanted nothing more than to curl up under the sheets with Jack at his side.

He was able to do just that. Jack seemed more than happy to switch off the lights and tuck Eric tight to his chest, nosing through his hair, pressing occasional kisses against the back of his neck. “Thank you for being here. For loving me,” Jack murmured.

“Honey,” Eric said, holding Jack’s arm round his waist tight, “it isn’t hard to love you. Easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Jack huffed a laugh. “I know what I’m like, Eric. Trust me.”

“I know what you’re like, too,” Eric countered, and shuffled even closer. He could feel the thump of Jack’s heartbeat against his back, and he closed his eyes. “And lovin’ you seems like the only thing I could do. It’s part of me now, and it’s not going away.”

Jack sighed, and kissed Eric’s shoulder. “I love you, too. It wasn’t…it doesn’t come naturally to me, the way it does to you. But it…it’s not less.”

Eric smiled and brushed the top of Jack’s hand with the tips of his fingers. “Honey, I know. I know that, and I don’t expect more’n you can give. I’m happy.”

Jack hummed and nodded, and within minutes, he was asleep. It took Eric a little bit longer, but that was okay. He was more than happy to bask, to feel this, and know it was his. Jack had a hard time loving, and in a way, it made it feel more special. Eric was worth the effort. For the first time in his life, he felt worth the effort, and that was enough to make all the rest of the struggles worth it.

*** 

Eric startled a bit when warm arms came round his waist, and he turned, only to be swept up into a waltz step, his drink plucked from his fingers. Jack’s hand tucked round his waist, his other taking Eric’s and pressed it between them as Eric let his head rest against Jack’s chest.

“Is this Taylor Swift?” Jack asked quietly.

Eric laughed, smacking Jack lightly on the hip where his hand sat. “You’re just saying that to rile me up.”

Jack chuckled, and pressed a kiss to Eric’s hair as he glanced over to where Kent and Alexei were sharing their own dance. Kent’s eyes drifted up, meeting Jack’s, and his lips curved into a smile softer than Jack had ever seen it. Love looked good on Kent. Love, and support, and a softness Jack had never been able to achieve, but had come to Alexei like second nature.

Jack knew from the beginning, he and Kent would never be good for each other that way, but they had this. A friendship that transcended most everything else, and led to a closeness Jack wouldn’t trade for the world. Kent had taught Jack to love, in a selfless way, in a way outside of resentment and hockey, and now that love was turned on Eric Bittle, the quiet man resting easily, swaying in his arms.

Jack felt his heart race a little, when he looked round the room and realised that some day, this could be theirs. The next time Jack spun Eric round a dance floor could be their own wedding. In a year, in five, in ten. It didn’t matter. But he wanted it.

He brushed his fingers through the shorn sides of Eric’s hair, and when Eric looked up, he smiled. “When we get married,” Jack said, in a matter of fact tone that belied the nervousness he was feeling inside, “we should have our cake toppers be a bun and cow.”

Eric blinked, startled for a second, and then he threw his head back and laughed. Jack was overwhelmed for a moment, with how beautiful he found this man, and he had to catch his breath as Eric answered him. “Honey, that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“The wedding or the cake toppers?”

Eric rolled his eyes, lifting his hand from Jack’s waist to curl in the hair at the nape of his neck. “The toppers. Sweetheart, at our wedding, we are having designer everything.”

“You don’t think I could talk Gucci into making us a bun and cow cake topper?” Jack challenged.

Eric’s eyes crinkled with a look Jack had come to recognise as fond, exasperated love. “Baby, if you can talk Gucci into creating a cow and bun cake topper, I’ll do more than allow it. I’ll let the whole playlist be your boring, old country folk music.”

Jack laughed, brushing his fingers down Eric’s cheek. “No you won’t.”

Eric huffed. “Fine. No, I won’t. If you think I won’t have at least sixty percent Queen Bey, then you don’t know who the hell you’re marryin’.”

Jack smiled, a thrill running up his spine. Who he’s marrying. Eric Bittle. Eric Bittle. He’s going to marry Eric Bittle someday. His throat went tight for a minute, and he couldn’t do more than lean in and kiss him.

“I like spring weddings,” Eric said, gently against Jack’s moving lips. “And the beach.”

“Noted,” Jack said as he pulled away. He brushed his fingers against Eric’s cheeks one more time before grabbing his waist again, and doing a slight spin. “I’m going to ask you properly.”

Eric’s eyes went a little wide, a little watery, and when he spoke his voice was thick with emotion. “What if I ask you first, hmm? What then?”

Jack smiled, and tucked Eric in close. He captured Eric’s gaze, and held him still for a minute, as the music went on around them. The answer was simple. It was the easiest question Jack had ever responded to in his entire life.

“Well, then I’ll say yes.”

The smile, the look of utter adoration, was the only thing Jack ever needed.

Yes, this was it. This was forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr at omgittybits


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